The Lion of Orlais
by Shakespira
Summary: Before Leonie Caron became the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, she was the Lion of Orlais, Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens of Val Royeaux and Duncan was the only man strong enough to capture her heart. **Spoilers for The Calling and Origins**
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **This is my first fanfic...yes, yes..a virgin in the arena. This takes place prior to Ostagar and I'm also working on a sequel that takes place during Awakening and after.

**There are spoilers here for **The Calling **and **Origins**. Reviews and helpful commentary are most welcome. **

**Snippets**

**Leonie, age 9, Jader Grey Warden Compound**

As he walked into the Jader compound, he heard a squeal from the large oak tree in the courtyard and watched with amusement as a young girl jumped down off her perch and came running towards him. He stopped to hand his reins over to the waiting stable boy's outstretched hand and held his arms open. She launched herself into his arms and he swung her high in the air. Her joyous laughter echoed off the buildings and he could not help but smile at her delight.

"I would ask if you were behaving, young lady, but I see by your black eye that you have been fighting again," Duncan said with an indulgent smile.

The young girl's blue eyes narrowed as she settled back onto the ground. "It isn't my fault that Perot was itching to fight," she said with as much dignity as a nine year old could muster. She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed it.

"Itching was he? And just how did you determine that?" Duncan asked, hiding a twitch of a smile.

"He said that I couldn't be a Grey Warden because I'm a girl and girls can't fight. Well, I had to show him that girls can fight. So I punched him, just like you showed me," she gloated and he hid another smile.

"But you forgot the most important lesson, Lion," he said and tried to sound scolding but she was skipping beside him and laughing.

"I know. I forgot to duck," she responded and this time he did smile.

"Well, that's always a wise course of action, of course. But I was referring to the lesson about learning to walk away from a fight."

He glanced down at her and saw that her smile was now a fierce frown. "I do walk away, honestly. But some things can't go unnoticed. I can and will join the Grey Wardens."

He squeezed her hand lightly, never doubting for a moment that Leonie Caron would do whatever she wanted in life because she had the fiercest heart of anyone he had ever known.

"Riordan got here this morning. He says if you get any slower, you'll move backwards. And Papa got home yesterday. He says that we'll have four new wardens by the end of the week. I hope they all make it," she added in a hushed voice.

"Don't worry, Lion, they will if it is the Maker's will."

"Mama cries when they don't. I've seen her. But I'm not supposed to tell Papa."

Balfour Caron, Sub Commander of Jader, was a tall, imposing man with a shock of red hair and a temper to match but he was fair and even handed unless provoked and Duncan had learned a great deal about honor and duty from him. His wife, Nila, was as short as Balfour was large, and she was beautiful. It was from her that Leonie got her thick dark hair and blue eyes. But Leonie's disposition was all her own.

"Oh Duncan, you have a new earring! May I see it?" Leonie asked and he obligingly bent down so she could examine the silverite hoop.

"Where did you get it? There are little shapes engraved on it. What are the shapes?"

Duncan tweaked her nose and stood back up. "A merchant in Orzammar. Those are Dwarven runes."

"Orzammar? Really? Oh, I wish I could go there again! Did you go in the Deep Roads? Did you go to a Proving? What is the king like?"

Duncan chuckled. "I'm only here for two days, child, I can't possibly answer all your questions in that time."

Leonie glanced up at him through a fringe of dark lashes to see if he was impatient with her but he was still smiling and she slipped her hand in his once again as they entered the main hall where they were met by Riordan, Balfour and Nila, as well as several new wardens.

"Ho, Duncan! How goes the recruitment in Ferelden?"

Duncan grimaced as he greeted his friends. "It would be better if King Maric would allow more than thirty of us in the country. But he claims that Teryn Loghain will not allow more and no matter how much the king argues with the Landsmeet, thirty is all we are going to get."

"Has he at least allowed for more than just the Denerim compound?"

Duncan shook his head and his grimace turned into a frown. "Loghain's hatred of Orlais and all things Orlesian makes it difficult for any real progress. All we can do is hope that no Blight starts as long as Loghain has the king's ear," he said grimly.

"A Blight?" Leonie asked, her eyes wide. "Is there a Blight coming?"

"Of course not, dear. Now go wash up while I scold Duncan for being late," Nila broke in, giving her daughter a pat on the head and shooting a glare at Duncan. But Duncan wasn't aware of it as he and Balfour exchanged worried looks.

**Leonie, age 12, Jader Compound**

Duncan dismounted and quietly handed the reins over to the stable boy, his eyes focused on the training yard.

Leonie was standing, knees bent, with a blunted short sword in one hand and a blunted dagger in the other, dodging and ducking the incoming attacks. Her sparring partner was the infamous Perot, two years older and substantially heavier and taller than she was. But she was clearly winning. Perot was breathless and sweating, his attacks becoming clumsy as she danced out of the way of them or parried them. He stumbled back and Leonie pounced on him, knocking him flat on his back and she straddled his chest, dagger at his throat.

"Do you yield, Perot?" she asked in a calm, strong voice. Duncan folded his arms across his chest, watching and waiting.

"Yes, yes. I yield, Leonie. But I want to know how you do that," the young man growled and she jumped up, offering her hand to him.

"Same time tomorrow? I'll show you how to use your shield as a weapon," she said and there was no trace of triumph in her voice. She whispered something to him and the young man laughed, clapping her on the back. Duncan chuckled when she staggered under the onslaught.

"Duncan!" Leonie cried, dropping the weapons and running to him. To his great relief, she did not launch herself at him. Those days had passed, and he was surprised to see how graceful she had become at an age when most girls were gangly and awkward. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely.

"You missed my birthday!" she accused, staring up at him. "And Maker's breath! You have grown a beard!"

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, My Lady. I have a present in my pack but perhaps you are too upset with me to receive it?" Duncan teased, resisting the impulse to ruffle her hair, which was already a bird's nest from her sparring practice.

"Perhaps I am. But I shall get over it before supper, I assure you," she said with a regal dignity that had them both laughing again.

"I think you look quite dashing with your beard and your earring. Like a Rivaini pirate."

"Hmmm, not the look I was striving for," Duncan replied, stroking his beard.

"Well, in that case, you look - erm - older and wiser?" she responded with a twinkle in her eye.

"Cheeky child," he replied affectionately and then he did ruffle her hair. To his surprise, she took umbrage with that action and in a flash she growled and ran inside.

Duncan looked across at Nila with a raised brow and a shrug of his shoulders.

Nila smiled and shook her head. "You treat her like a child when she wants to be a woman. A difficult age for a girl."

"Ah," was all he said but he stared after Leonie, frowning. One of his reasons for coming here every three months was to see her, to watch her grow. She was family, they all were. And for a man with so few happy memories of his own childhood, this was a haven he craved. To know he had upset Leonie, however inadvertently, gave him pause.

"Should I go up and talk to her?"

Nila and Balfour both smiled and shook their heads in unison. "You would not come out of that encounter unscathed. Best to let her come back down on her own."

Duncan sighed and gave a little huff of laughter. "I will never claim to understand females, no matter their age."

**Leonie, age 16, Jader Compound**

Duncan rode into the compound at dusk, expecting to see Leonie in the training yard or waiting for him, as was her custom but he was met by silence. None of the Wardens were in the training yard or the stables. The stable boy took his horse and led him away without a word. Duncan felt a stirring of unease. Usually bustling with activities, the quiet was unsettling, bordering on unnatural. He frowned as he strode across the grounds and entered the manor house. A young maid bobbed nervously at him and he could see her eyes were red and swollen from crying. His heart quickened.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"Young master died, Ser Duncan."

"Young master? You mean Ser Balfour?" Duncan asked, his voice sharper than he had intended, fear now beginning to bloom in his stomach.

"No, no. Young Perot. The Joining. They're building his pyre down in the meadow right now, except poor miss. She won't come out of her room. Been crying nonstop since last night. Won't eat, won't let anyone in."

"And all of the others are down in the meadow? Nobody stayed with her?" Duncan asked, surprised.

"No, ser."

"I'll go check on her. Fetch some cider and a plate of food, and bring it up in a bit," he instructed and took the stairs two at a time.

This was the reason he was relieved that none of his Ferelden recruits had asked to have their families with them at the Denerim compound. He would not have allowed it even if they had asked. The custom in Orlais amongst the Grey Wardens was to have a family and keep their family close. Too many Orlesians knew Warden secrets and too many family members were hurt by a failed Joining. But this was his surrogate family and he was grateful enough for them that he overlooked it. Except now because Leonie was grieving and no one was there to help her.

He tapped on the door but there was no response. He reached into his pouch and removed his lock pick tools. She would not thank him for it, he knew, but he could hear her sobs through the heavy wooden door and could not fathom why Nila or Balfour had left her alone.

"Leo?" he asked softly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He bumped into her table and groped for the lamp, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

"Go away," came a thick mumble from the bed and he moved closer.

"I can't do that," he said quietly but firmly. "You need to eat something."

He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, he only knew he had to say something. She was drowning in her tears and her sorrow.

The air was stale and warm. He moved quietly to the window, pushing aside the curtains. A cool, gentling breeze stirred the air. He moved back to her bed and sat again, wondering what he could possibly do to help her. He knew nothing about comforting people. He only knew he was compelled to try.

"I'm not hungry. GO AWAY!" she shouted and began to sob again, dry and harsh sounds that tore at his heart. He reached for her and gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair.

"This is foolish, Lion. You have been around Grey Wardens long enough to know that people die in the Joining," he began and that's when she reared back and hit him across the cheek, so hard it snapped his head back and he bit his tongue, eyes watering.

Well that didn't go as expected, he thought wryly. But he pulled her close again and continued to stroke her hair.

"I killed him. It's my fault," she finally sobbed into his chest.

Duncan stopped stroking her hair. "What do you mean? I thought his Joining was not successful?"

"I - I goaded him into it. I called him a coward for not becoming a Grey Warden

"I was so sure he wouldn't make it that when he came and asked me to lay with him, I did because I _knew_ ," she said on a wailing high note as fresh sobs shook her shoulders.

"He was eighteen, Leo. Old enough to know his own mind," he reminded her calmly, trying to ignore the sudden flare of darker emotion her confession had caused.

"I knew. I knew he didn't have the heart to survive. I could tell and I goaded him anyway," she whispered. "Maker take me, I killed him."

"No, Leonie. The Joining killed him."

"Oh don't keep saying that as if it somehow excuses what a heartless, mean spirited bitch I am!" she snapped suddenly and pushed away from him, standing up and pacing the room.

She turned back to look at him, hands on hips, daring him to disagree with her self assessment, but he could tell her eyes were not really focused on him, they were drawn inward, to stare at her own guilt.

He took in her appearance then. Gaunt, shadowed and haunted. Her eyes were swollen almost shut from her crying and her lips were cracked and dry. She looked ineffably sad and older than her years as she stood there. But he saw anger flare in her eyes and that was a good sign.

"Do you know why everyone calls you Lion?"

"Because I used to growl and hiss at people when I was mad," she said as if he were a simpleton. He chuckled.

"Well, yes you did. And clawed and bit when you were really angry. But that is not why we all call you Lion."

She stared at him, waiting for him to go on and when he didn't, she finally ground out, "So why is it, Duncan? Why do people call me Lion?"

"Because you have the heart of a lion. You are brave and fierce and protective. You have more courage in your heart than all of the rest of us put together.

"And you did not push Perot into joining the order. Your father would never have allowed him into the order if that was the case. You know this," he chided softly.

Her eyes focused on him finally and widened when she saw the clear red imprint of her hand on his ruddy cheek. She was immediately contrite and came to him, kneeling down. She reached out and touched his cheek, her hand cool against his stinging skin.

"Oh Duncan, you see? Heartless and mean spirited. I am so sorry," she whispered and leaning up, she kissed the stinging mark on his cheek. Which caused a reaction in the region of his heart that was totally unexpected and not at all welcomed. For a moment he was speechless, his thoughts completely gone out of his head. To his relief, she didn't seem to notice as she pushed up to her feet and moved around the room again in short, agitated steps.

"I should probably clean up and eat. The service will be starting soon, I think.

"And Duncan?"

"Yes?" he asked, feeling a rush of pride as she stood before him, once more the Lion.

"Thank you," she said and came and kissed his cheek again, her breath warm against his skin. And once again his heart somersaulted and he could feel the warmth of a blush making its way rapidly up his neck.

What an old fool, he thought with disgust as he made his way back down the stairs and out of the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This chapter is Duncan's PoV.

**Having a Ball**

As he made his way from Denerim to Jader, Duncan tried not to think about how complicated his life had become. He was not a man who appreciated complications of any kind and he felt, at times, besieged by political complications and personal complications alike. But the harder he tried _not _to think, the more his mind became consumed with thoughts.

Arl Eamon, with the approval of King Maric, had given Alistair over to the Chantry when the boy was ten. For three years now Duncan had found his promise to Fiona impossible to fulfill. Fiona was not happy, not at all. Every few months he received a letter from her explaining why she was not happy. He couldn't blame her. He had promised to keep an eye on the boy but it was difficult to do so when the boy was in a monastery.

He blamed Maric for not demanding his bastard son be treated better.

He blamed Arl Eamon for being weak willed enough to listen to the insistent caterwauling of his shrew of a wife.

He blamed Arlessa Isolde for being the very worst kind of Orlesian, spoiled, shrill and arrogant.

But blame did little to correct the injustice. He felt he had failed Fiona, Alistair and himself. He could not help but feel that somehow Loghain knew about Alistair's origins and that he had a hand in sending him off to become a templar.

Just thinking of Loghain gave him a headache. The man was still keeping a tight leash on the Grey Wardens. He was convinced that the Wardens were all spies for Orlais, despite the constant reassurances that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were comprised of _Fereldans_. And though he had been conscripted in Orlais, Duncan was not himself Orlesian. But no amount of talking could convince the jaded, paranoid man from believing otherwise.

But the largest and most unnerving complication was personal and it revolved around Leonie Caron. Or more to the point, his emotional attachment to her.

Every time he thought of that night and that damned kiss on his cheek he felt dirty and lecherous for having had the reaction he did. He had spent months trying to erase it with a series of women that left him unmoved and wanting something deeper with someone who actually touched his soul the way Leonie managed to without even trying. And that thought made him feel even worse.

Each visit to Jader after that night had been a kind of slow torture where he spent most of his time avoiding her or watching her covertly from the shadows as she went about her daily business of training or set up her easel to sketch or paint something that caught her eye.

When he did come into contact with her, he always felt off balance and guarded. She had noticed it, he was sure of it, and that only made it the more obvious. And made him feel a bigger fool.

Before he could reconcile any of the thoughts or emotions that beleaguered him, he was riding through the gates of the Jader compound, come to celebrate Leonie's eighteenth birthday and subsequent Joining two days later. Another reason for the complicated emotions plaguing him.

The thought of Leonie submitting herself to the taint and succumbing to a horribly painful death made him physically sick. He had somehow convinced himself over the years that she would decide on a different vocation and he had been proven wrong. She was the most opinionated, stubborn, willful girl he had ever known. _Woman_, he corrected and that made his heart do funny things in his chest. Which made him angry with himself. And with her, as if it were her fault she was who she was.

He didn't need complications, or emotional attachments or the foolish dreams of the young man he had once been.

She was not waiting for him and as he walked by the huge oak, he stopped and looked up, remembering a time when she would launch herself out of the tree and into his arms with a joyous whoop and mischievous smile. Uncomplicated. He missed those days more than he wanted to admit.

Yet he felt a thrum in his blood knowing he would see her soon. Hold her, however briefly, in a welcoming hug. He sighed wearily and wished he could just stop thinking.

Riordan was in the small library, the only person not upstairs busy with preparations for the birthday ball. He looked up lazily from his book and grinned.

"If you are smart, and you have always been, you will find a quiet place until the festivities start, brother. Tensions are high," he said and set his book aside to clasp the other man in a back slapping embrace.

"Sound advice, my friend. I take it the Commander of the Grey of Orlais is putting in an appearance?"

"Of course he is. It would be impolitic of him not to, as much sway as Balfour has with the imperial court. Leonie is not happy about that. But her unhappiness pales in comparison to Nila's. You know how she feels about him."

And still more complications. With another sigh, he gathered his pack and headed to his room. Stripping out of his armor, he lay down on the bed and slept. Or pretended to.

* * *

He watched the dancers sweep by and felt an angry knot forming in his stomach. That ass Montran was holding Leonie much too closely and leaning down to her in a very provocative and intimate manner. He felt his hands clench into fists at his side.

"You can't kill him with a look, Duncan, no matter how murderous it is," Nila said softly, coming to stand beside him. She smiled at him. "And you do not feel any more homicidal toward him than I do." She sighed, and rested a hand lightly on Duncan's forearm.

"Have no doubt that she will put him in his place very quickly, Commander of the Grey or not," she added and her smile widened as Leonie soundly trounced Montran's foot and with an obviously fake smile of apology, left the dance floor as the music came to an end. Montran's face was a mask of outrage and pain. Duncan chuckled softly.

She was beautiful and radiant when she re-entered the room. She literally took his breath away. Her lustrous dark hair was swept up in a simple chignon with loose strands framing her face. Her eyes, the color blue that only spring skies were allowed to wear, were large and luminous in her oval face. Delicate pink tinged her cheeks. Her dress, a tribute to the Grey Wardens, was a royal blue overdress with grey silk trim that fit snugly, emphasizing her narrow waist and flaring hips. Duncan couldn't take his eyes off her and, damn her, she knew it as she came up to him. He could tell by the triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"You have been avoiding me, Duncan. Are you not going to ask me to dance?"

"My Lady Leonie, I fear too greatly for my feet to even attempt a dance with you," he said, pleased with how smooth and light his voice was. Her lips, pursed in displeasure were entirely too tempting.

His infatuation was embarrassing and he was sure he would swiftly become the laughing stock of the others but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. She was mesmerizing. And _young_, he reminded himself. And a complication that he could ill afford.

"Well in that case, perhaps you would take me for a walk in the gardens?" she asked, winsome and sweet, a knowing glint in her eyes that belied the tone of her voice.

_The little tease. _His face darkened, his eyes looking away from her to survey the room.

"And deprive all these men of the pleasure of your company? I wouldn't dream of it." But even as he said those words he wanted to recall them and take her the garden and ravish her. And that was the problem. The _complication_.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him and he could see that she was hurt but he held fast to his stance with a forced smile, arms folded across his chest. Complication, he reminded himself grimly.

"Yes, we wouldn't want that. So many men, so little time," she said in a tight, hard voice and made her way to Riordan, who bent low to catch what she said and then threw back his head with a laugh before taking her onto the dance floor.

And that made Duncan feel like an even bigger ass than Montran.

He excused himself shortly after and made his way up to his room. He wasn't sure now why he had come. He could have used the excuse of his duties in Ferelden. But if he was honest he knew why he had come and she was downstairs enjoying the attentions of a room full of randy men, young and old alike.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is why the story is rated M...probably NSFW, although its likely tamer than a lot of stories out there, smut being something I've not ever written.

Thank you for your kind reviews.

* * *

**The Joining**

He tossed the book aside, his thoughts in turmoil. He stroked his beard, frowning. Too young. What was Balfour thinking, letting her join the Wardens? He stood and began removing his armor, trying to martial his jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order. Impatiently, he jerked at the buckles, cursing under his breath.

Her Joining was tomorrow. Barely eighteen and she had committed herself to the Grey Wardens without hesitation. She knew, as the daughter of a Grey Warden, what that entailed and was still willing to give the best of herself in service. Even after Perot's death. He was proud of her and angry at her and afraid for her.

Too young, he thought yet again, tossing aside his leather tunic. Too young and too beautiful to go into the darkest parts of the world and fight a brutal, hideous monster. He had tried to talk her out of it and although he was usually persuasive, in this matter she was absolutely resolute.

Riordan, Balfour, Ceres the mage warden, and Leonie had ridden out at sunrise. Duncan had wanted to go as well but he knew he would have been overly protective of her, which made him angry with himself. Angrier still when Riordan and Balfour agreed because they knew too, without saying a word.

Late in the afternoon they had ridden back through the gates. Leonie was covered in blood but triumphant as she passed him, giving him a radiant, proud smile. And he found he was able to breathe again knowing she was back and safe with her vial of darkspawn blood. And worried because nothing would stop the Joining now.

Dinner had been a jocular affair, with much laughter as she retold her tale of entering the Deep Roads and encountering her first darkspawn. Duncan even found himself laughing as she recounted the events that found Riordan falling into a pool of water trying to get out of the way of her flying blades.

As soon as dinner was over, he had excused himself on the pretext of work that couldn't wait. He didn't want his fear to dampen her high spirits. He had felt he owed her that much.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts and he realized that in his agitation he has changed into his linen shirt and breeches without conscious thought. With a frustrated grunt, he strode to the door and opened it.

Of course _she_ was there, standing in her nightdress, looking all of fourteen, her long hair braided and falling over her shoulder, her eyes dark and unreadable in the shadowed hallway, shuffling her bare feet. She was twisting her fingers nervously in the folds of her white lawn nightdress and she said nothing for a moment.

"You shouldn't be here," he admonished, relieved to hear the stern timbre of his voice. Inside he felt less stern and more confused by her sudden appearance, his heart hammering a bit erratically in his chest. Her eyes flashed in anger at his admonishment. It seemed to give her courage.

"Listen to me, Duncan, and listen well. I have come here as a woman tonight. You will not continue to fob me off in the hopes that I will go away," she began, moving with sudden confidence past him and into his room. Bravado, he thought and tried to marshal his own emotions. An impossible task.

He shut the door behind her and leaned his back against it for a moment, trying to decide what to say to that invitation.

He felt as though he was the one who was eighteen and awkward. But he wasn't. He was thirty eight and he had duties and responsibilities and she was impossibly young and he had known her since she was in swaddling clothes, for Maker's sake. He closed his eyes, reaching for some response that would allow them both some dignity.

"You don't want this grizzled old warrior, dear girl."

That, of course, was not the right thing to say. Any nerves she might have had deserted her in the heat of her anger. A lesser man would have cringed at that anger but he had to admit that she was lovely in the soft glow of the lamp, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Her chin tilted up, proud and defiant. His breath caught in his throat at the view of her slim white neck. He wanted nothing more than to burn a trail of kisses down its elegant length, but he stood still, his back against the door, watching her, mesmerized by the woman she had become.

"You are neither grizzled, nor old. And I am _not _your dear girl. I have loved you for most of my life and now that I have a chance of dying tomorrow, I am not going to waste another minute on your old fashioned notion that you are too old for me, or that I am too young for you or whatever it is you think. I am a woman, Duncan. And it is as a woman that I want you. I have waited impatiently to be old enough for this moment and still you would deny me with these matters of age," she began, her voice low and hot.

"And if you are worried about what father or mother will say, let me set your mind at ease. I have just come from them. My mother understands completely, has seen it coming on for years, and father just laughed and muttered 'poor Duncan doesn't stand a chance' so do not use them as an excuse for your own cowardice," she continued, hands on her hips.

"You told me, when Perot died, that he was eighteen and therefore old enough to make his own decisions. Well, guess what? So am I."

He had no idea what to say to that but he could feel the heat of a blush creeping slowly up his neck and across his cheeks. He wondered why she and she alone had the power to make him blush like a lovesick adolescent.

Silence fell between them, growing heavy and strained as it continued. After a few moments, she again became the insecure child and not the angry woman.

"If you do not - if you do not love me that way, or want me that way, could you just for tonight pretend?" she ask wistfully, averting her face. He saw her chin tremble and she was once again twisting her fingers nervously as she waited for his answer.

He moved to her then, quick sure steps, and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He saw uncertainty there, but even more, he saw the love in her eyes, the desire for him. It was a heady feeling that sent his pulses quickening. Still he felt compelled to give her an out, a choice.

"It isn't that, Leonie. You deserve someone young and fresh, with uncalloused hands, someone who can give you a good life. I have nothing to give you," he admitted quietly, studying her face.

He saw the roles reverse again as he became the unsure and clumsy one, afraid she would realize he _was_ too old and reject him. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head. She reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling softly.

"You have the one thing I want, Duncan. The _only_ thing I _need_. Your heart."

Said heart thumped loud and hot against his ribs and he wondered if it would ever be possible to breathe again. With a groan, he pulled her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers, admitting defeat and victory all at once.

Her lips were soft and pliant and her hands came up to thread through his hair. He was lost, irrevocably lost in the sensation of her in his arms and the knowledge that she loved him and wanted him. Her lips parted and his tongue caressed hers. He wanted her and the power of that want both frightened and enflamed him. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, his lips never leaving hers.

When he reached to turn down the lantern, she stayed his hand with a wicked smile, no trace of a young girl at all in her eyes. "I want to see you, Duncan. I want to see you lose your famous control."

He growled, nipping at her neck as his hands explored her curves under the soft material of her nightdress. She wiggled underneath him, trying to get closer and he could feel the wild beat of her heart, see it pulsing at the hollow of her throat. He dropped a kiss there, and then a trail of them along her neck and up to her ear.

"You have my heart, Leo. You always have," he whispered before gently nipping at her lobe.

He wanted to take his time, to be gentle with her as they got to know each other's bodies but she was urging him with words like _need_ and _want _and _oh yes. _Her nightdress ended up in a heap next to his clothes as they tangled limbs.

Leonie wrapped her legs around him, pulling him to her, her breath hot and quick against his chest. Her tongue flicked against his nipple and he groaned, his control slipping further.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she whispered into his mouth and their tongues one again began to dance.

Her hands were running down his sides, across his back and then up, light and inquisitive as she explored him. He reveled in the light touch, breath hitching as she traced the scar on his shoulder and down his side.

He leaned away from her, sliding down her torso, dropping wet kisses along the way, his hands following the curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips. She giggled once and he realized his beard had found a ticklish spot, which he filed away for future use. And she gasped as his beard grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, her hips bucking, a mewl of want escaping her.

His control was in tatters and he growled, deep in his chest. She was watching as he slid back up her body and he met her eyes. Hers widened and another wicked smile graced her lips before she pulled him back down for a kiss.

He pushed into her a little at a time, waiting for her to adjust to him. She tightened her grip on his back and used her legs to pull him in deeper, arching into him.

"Duncan," she breathed into his mouth, her eyes lidded and heavy as they learned the rhythm of the other's heart and body. And then she was crying out, urging him to thrust harder and deeper, fingers digging into his back and his self control.

He felt her muscles contract and spasm around him, heard her crying out his name before his world expanded and then shattered, her name on his lips like a prayer of salvation as he thrust once more, shuddering. They lay tangled in the sheets, kissing and caressing and murmuring softly before drifting off to sleep in each other's arms.

He awoke to find her gone and for a moment he thought she had returned to her room but as his eyes adjusted, he saw her sitting on the window seat, her back against one wall, knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. She was staring out the window, quiet and still. He padded over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I love this time, neither night nor day. It's as if the world is waiting, wondering what the new day will bring. No sound, just the world, holding its breath, waiting for the endless possibilities of what will be," she said in a hushed voice and he squeezed her shoulder gently.

She turned to look at him then and he saw the glitter of tears on her cheeks. He dropped to his knees beside her, silent. He wasn't sure he could speak if he wanted to, his throat thick with emotions he had long ago buried deep.

"I will not ask more of you than you are able to give, Duncan," she whispered, leaning into him. "But neither will I pretend that what I feel for you is anything less than it is," she added and slid off her perch and onto her knees in front of him.

"And no matter what happens today, know that you are loved, always," she added softly.

She kissed him, a chaste, feathery meeting of lips and then reached out, caressinhg his cheek lightly before standing up. She moved to the pile of clothes abandoned so quickly the night before and pulled her nightdress over her head.

"I will see you at the Joining," she murmured and slipped out of the room.

He wondered, as he knelt there, what she could possibly see in a battered, old, hardened warrior with ten years of his life left, if luck was with him. And she might have only hours. He shuddered, head bowed.

Then he did something he hadn't done in nearly twenty years. He prayed.

* * *

The Joining was being held in the dining hall because every Grey Warden in the compound, along with the Commander of the Grey of Orlais and his entourage, wanted to be there.

For most of the thirty Jader Grey Wardens, Leonie was their surrogate sister or daughter. Duncan rather doubted that Montran's viewed her as either. And he himself certainly couldn't claim those feelings he thought wryly. That thought lead to several wayward thoughts that caused a slight smile to wing swiftly over his features. Some small part of him wanted to jump up on the table and pound his chest and gloat about his conquest. And that was disquieting because he had always fancied himself to be a gentleman.

He took a deep, steadying breath and let his eyes wander the room as the Wardens crowded in.

Riordan stood at the small table, wearing the distinctive dark grey leather armor of the Grey. He caught Duncan's eye and smiled, nodding his head slightly. Duncan returned the silent greeting. The Joining Chalice was there, as well as the amulet that she would be given if- _when_- she woke.

As the Senior Warden of Jader, Riordan would be administering the oath while Balfour, as the Commander of Jader would hand his daughter the chalice. Duncan was suddenly glad that he was not participating in the ritual. He wasn't altogether sure he was strong enough to do it.

Balfour entered then, resplendent in the ceremonial Warden heavy plate. His face was a mask of calm but Duncan saw his hand shake as he moved the chalice. He too caught Duncan's eye and bowed slightly. Duncan gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

He could only imagine Nila, wringing her hands and pacing the halls of the manor, waiting for word. Their only child was about to give up her freedom, her very life, everything, for the sake of a duty that could not be forsworn.

Montran and his group stood off to the side. Montran's blue enameled and silverite heavy plate armor gleamed. He was trying very hard to look relaxed but his lips were thinned and tight, his jaw twitching. Montran glanced at Duncan and away again, but not before Duncan saw the fear in his eyes.

Leonie entered then, amidst a smattering of greetings from the gathered Grey Wardens. She was wearing a new set of silverite splint mail, her sword at her hip. She had pulled her hair back into a braid and her face looked freshly scrubbed and far too young. He was relieved to see her expression was calm, bordering on serene, as she searched the group. Her eyes found his and she gave him a reassuring smile. He tried to return the smile, ignoring the thickness in his throat.

He wanted to grab her and run. He wanted to give her everything he thought she deserved, even knowing that it was not necessarily what she wanted.

"Greetings, brothers and sisters. We gather today to bring into the Grey Warden family a new member, my daughter Leonie Caron. The Lion of Jader," Balfour began.

There was a swell of cheers at that and Duncan smiled to see the blush sweep across her cheeks.

"We bear a sacred duty, to protect the lands of men against the darkspawn. So it was in the first Blight, and so it is now. It is a burden for those who accept this duty. But it is also a blessing. There is no higher calling," he finished and nodded to Riordan.

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you," Riordan intoned.

"From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden," Balfour said quietly.

The room stilled as everyone held their breath when Balfour handed Leonie the chalice and she drank. In all the Joinings he had attended and performed Duncan had never felt physically sick, but now his stomach churned, his heart pounded and sweat beaded along his forehead.

He had to force himself to watch as she gasped and clutched her head. She let out a ragged cry, her eyes rolled back until only the whites were showing and then she fell back. Riordan caught her and gently lowered her to the floor. He bent over her, fingers against her neck.

"She lives," he said and there was a collective sigh of relief.

Duncan moved to her side and sank down beside her. He reached out an unsteady hand and caressed her cheek, watching her eyelids flickering as she experienced her first nightmare. He sat with her as the others slowly filed out. Balfour and Riordan stayed with him.

"That was the hardest thing I've ever done," Balfour admitted with a grim smile.

"I never doubted she'd succeed," Riordan said, shooting Duncan a grin. "But this man looked like he was undergoing the ritual himself." Riordan clapped him on the back, his grin broader.

"Believe me, my friend, I was," Duncan responded with a relieved smile.

Forty long minutes later, her eyes flickered and opened and they immediately sought his. She smiled weakly and said, "I do not recommend that drink be served at parties."


	4. Chapter 4

**Nightmares **

Leonie stared across the room at Duncan, unable to hide the grin on her face. She could tell from the ruddy patches on his cheeks that he was being teased by the other wardens. He glanced over at her, an eyebrow raised and she saw the hint of a smile twitching at his lips. A promise that he would pay her back, she was sure. She winked at him and then turned back to resume her conversation with the Commander of the Grey of Orlais.

"You realize that you will not be staying here in Jader, yes?" Montran said, his voice unctuous and overly solicitous.

Leonie felt a sinking sensation where her stomach had just been. She hadn't realized any such thing. Several fathers and sons were stationed at the Jader compound, several others at various other Orlesian Grey Warden compounds. She could feel his eyes boring into her and she fought to meet his eyes, wanting instead to push her chair back and leave him, the gloating, pompous nightmare of a man. She would not give him the satisfaction, now or ever.

"Of course, Warden Commander. I await my assignment." Her tone was calm with just enough deference in it to ensure he knew it was false.

His grey eyes narrowed slightly and he smiled, a vulpine smile that made Leonie more than a little uneasy. But she did not lower her eyes, hoping that any unease would not be noticed. With a man such as Montran, self indulgent and conceited, she doubted he would notice anything less subtle than the sharp stab of a blade. And the image of her doing just that made her smile ever so slightly.

"We shall talk of it more tomorrow. Tonight is your night to celebrate, little one. I will not take _that_ away from you," he replied smoothly and reached out to cover her hand with his.

It was all she could do not to jerk away from him. There were undercurrents that she did not completely understand and it only made her unease grow. But his sexual overtone was glaring and alarming.

She looked down at his large, pale hand as it covered her. It was entirely too smooth for a Grey Warden. Even mages within their ranks had calloused and hardened hands_. Soft and weak, just like him._ Leonie looked up and met his eyes head on, her own eyes narrowed slightly.

"I think that you should remove your hand, Warden Commander. It is not welcome," she told him coolly.

He smiled again, leaning toward her and bringing his lips close to her ear. "It will be one day, little one," he assured her and she could not prevent the shiver that his words and actions caused. He leaned back, his smile smug. He truly was a walking nightmare.

Casting a glance in Duncan's direction, she saw that he was still talking to Riordan and Ceres. _Look at me, look at me and rescue me_. But he didn't even glance her way. She realized then that if she wanted to be the adult she claimed she was, she needed to act like one now and not rely on help from Duncan. She took a steadying breath. Perhaps fighting fire with fire was called for.

Leaning into Montran, Leonie made sure her silk clad breasts grazed his arm. She fluttered a soft breath along his neck before bringing her lips close to his ear. She heard his breath catch, saw his eyes half close, could almost smell his arousal.

"If you touch me again, Montran, I will happily take out my boot knife and stab it into your shallow little heart," she whispered in a silken voice. His eyes widened and she saw red creeping up past the collar of his shirt, suffusing his neck.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away, not stopping until she was outside, surprised to find herself standing in the garden. She sank onto a bench, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She imagined her assignment would be to the back of beyond now, perhaps the tiny outpost in Churneau or even worse, the Nahashin Marshes.

It was a cheap thing for her to do, using her femininity against him. She should feel ashamed as she had always prided herself on not using feminine wiles to get what she wanted. Seeing his look had made it worthwhile and she could not feel any shame about it at all. There was even a bit of pride with herself for handling him on her own. There was also, deeply below the layers of her other emotions, a very real fear that she had made a mortal enemy of Montran.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply. The garden was awash in blooms, the light breeze fragrant with the scent of marigolds and roses and lavender. Far in the distance she could hear the howl of a wolf, the whisper of night wings. She felt her calm return as she sat in the darkness.

"Leonie? You are the guest of honor, you can't leave yet," Duncan said quietly from behind her.

She startled, a small cry escaping her lips. Sneaky rogue, she thought, trying to calm her heart and steady her voice.

"I just needed some fresh air."

She felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. She reached up and took it, turning it over and dropping a light kiss on the palm before pressing it against her cheek. Here was a man with Grey Warden hands, hard and calloused but surprisingly gentle.

"I don't suppose I can talk you into taking me to bed right now?" she asked lightly.

He laughed, an unexpected sound that warmed her in wonderful places. "I think you may be able to, actually."

He bent and she felt his lips light against her neck. She shivered again, her breath hitching as the heat of her blood spread through her like molten honey. Would his touch always have such power over her?

"Of course, first you'll have to tell me what that discussion with Montran was all about."

Leonie chuckled. "The problem with loving a rogue and a thief is that they are far too observant," she said with a wry smile.

Duncan pulled her up and into his arms. "I would not mind hearing that again."

"The part about being observant?" she teased, staring up into his deep brown eyes.

He didn't answer, just bent down and captured her lips in a kiss that seemed to go on forever, soft and sweet and full of the things he couldn't bring himself to utter.

"Now, about that conversation?" he said finally and somewhat reluctantly, it seemed to Leonie. To her delight, his breath was as ragged as her own.

"He was just reminding me that as a new Grey Warden I should expect to get an assignment," she replied glibly.

"Of course, as I have made him a terribly angry, I suspect it will not be a particularly good assignment," Leonie admitted with a rueful laugh.

"And he felt compelled to whisper that information into your ear?" Duncan asked, his tone dry.

"Perhaps he thought he would not be heard over the din?" she supplied hopefully.

_Don't push this, please. You'll get angry and do something rash and it will only make things worse_. Of course she couldn't really say that. And she had _wanted _his help earlier.

"That explains why you felt compelled to return the gesture," he responded and there was a hint of steel in his voice.

_Is he jealous? Really? That seems entirely unlikely_. But it pleased her to think so.

Leonie flushed, but returned his steel in kind. "I was merely making sure he understood both my answer and my meaning."

Duncan stepped back and she knew he was searching for the words that would defuse and not enflame.

"Then there is no need for further discussions about him," he replied and tucking her arm into his, he led her back to her fellow Grey Wardens, staying at her side until the gathering broke up for the night.

And when they went upstairs, she took his hand and pulled him into her room, a teasing smile lighting her face.

"Warden business," she said, closing the door behind them.

* * *

She awoke with a start, gasping for breath, bathed in sweat. _A nightmare? Oh please, Maker, let it be a nightmare_. She felt strong arms around her and a soft murmur in her ear. _Thank the Maker._

"I wasn't expecting them to seem so real," she said with a shaky laugh.

She had been warned. She had heard about them first hand and yet in the throes of the dream, the _nightmare_, she had forgotten, or been arrogant enough to think she would not have them.

_Turning and twisting through the dark tunnels, all around her the skittering, guttural noises of thousands of things brushing against her, tangling underfoot, tripping her until she fell on the hard surface, trampled by them as they continued on, the smell of death and decay and the foulest of creatures choking her. Hands reaching out to tear at her flesh and razor sharp teeth biting into her. _

She shuddered, clutching at Duncan's shoulder as he cradled her in his arms and just held her, reassuring noises flowing from his throat into her ear.

"Such dreams will come and go, Leonie. You will master them just as you did the taint," he reassured, his deep voice reverberating in his chest. She could hear his heart, steady and calming.

Dawn was chasing away the last vestiges of darkness, making a clear path for the sun's approach. She should get up and get ready for her meeting with Montran but she was too content, resting in Duncan's arms. She would be content to rest there forever, given the opportunity, but reality was a bitter bite, reminding her that their time together was finite, determined by the poisoned blood that coursed through their veins.

She saw it then, clear and inescapable. Their lives would be forever controlled by the taint of their blood and the darkspawn and the miles that separated them. Would she have given him her heart had she understood the sacrifices they would both have to make? Leonie sighed and burrowed even closer, wishing to crawl right into his skin at that moment, because she knew in her heart that come what may, it would be worth it for these moments of pure and unfettered happiness.

"I love you, Duncan," she murmured into the downy softness of dark hair that covered his chest. She did not expect him to respond in kind. Duncan was not a man given to voicing emotions and feelings easily. She knew that and accepted it. But his hand stroking her back stopped briefly and then continued and she heard his heart's rhythm increase. She would be content with that. For now.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Warden's Appetite **

Dressed in her new splint mail, helmet tucked under her arm, Leonie made her way to her father's study. Montran, dark blonde hair still damp from his bath, grey eyes unreadable, sat behind her father's desk. He was still angry. Leonie could see it in the set of his jaw and the way he held his back and shoulders. Stiff and straight.

"Good morning Warden Commander Montran. I report as ordered, ser."

"Sit down, Warden Leonie."

It was not a request. It was an order. His tone was brusque and cold.

She took the seat opposite him, taking time to set her helmet down on the floor beside her. She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes never leaving his face. She would not be cowed by him. If she showed any fear or apprehension she would never be able to command respect. She willed her heart to slow as she waited for him to speak again.

"I have decided that you are in need of field training. I think the best place for that will be Lydes."

By will alone did her shoulders stay straight, her gaze level. Lydes was a small outpost, only six wardens, all single men in their late twenties as she recalled. The rumor was that they would be closing Lydes within the year, moving the wardens to other outposts. No Warden ever volunteered for the Lydes outpost. So this was to be her punishment.

"We are leaving tomorrow morning for Montsimmard. I suggest you leave with us as Lydes is on the way. Please have your things ready by dawn."

"Yes, Warden Commander," she responded crisply. He would not see her disappointment or anger. He would _not_. She moved to the door.

"And Warden Leonie?"

Leonie paused, her hand on the door handle. She refused to turn and look at him.

"Ser?"

"Do not disappoint me," he said in a voice that was venom sheathed in velvet.

"Insufferable, arrogant, hateful toad!" she railed as soon as she was at her bedroom door. She slammed the door behind her with so much force that a vase on her mantle danced a crazy jig before hitting the hearthstone and shattering. Leonie opened her door and slammed it shut again for good measure. She was disappointed when nothing else broke. The shattering glass had been wonderfully satisfying to hear.

She paced her room, breathing deeply, trying to calm her anger. She had asked for this. She had asked to join the Grey Wardens and she had deliberately provoked Montran. What had she expected him to do? Pat her head and thank her? She had brought this on herself and now she would have to live with it.

With a gulping sob, she sank to the floor and put her face in her hands. This was her home, the only place she had ever known and the Wardens and support staff and servants were her family. She hadn't expected to have to leave them so soon. And some foolishly romantic little part of her had hoped somehow that Duncan would ask her to come back to Ferelden and help him, be with him. Another gulping sob broke from her. She wanted to be an adult but she was just a foolish child after all.

"Andraste's flaming sword," she growled, scrubbing the tears from her face and standing. Lying in a puddle of tears in her room would not change the fact that she would be leaving tomorrow at dawn.

She removed her armor and slipped into a plain linen shirt and doeskin pants. Sliding her feet into kid boots, she surveyed her room. What to bring?

Deciding what to bring proved difficult. There were so many things she wanted to bring to remind her of home but the Lydes compound was small and there was a possibility she would be sharing a room with the others. Something she would have to get used to as a woman in an arena comprised almost entirely of men, especially in Orlais where women were not warriors. The legend of Aveline was proof of that.

"I should have become a bard. Bards don't share rooms," she muttered darkly.

"True, at least not unless they want to. And it is a very _Orlesian_ thing to be for a woman," Duncan agreed and she heard the amusement in his voice.

She threw her brush at him and he caught it deftly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He looked relaxed and fatally handsome, standing there, arms folded, watching her pack. Her heart leapt and she wanted to capture that moment, have it emblazoned into her memory. The time to part was hurtling toward them and soon she would have to live on memory alone for Maker knew how long. They had yet to discuss just how they would manage a relationship living in different countries.

In a flash, she grabbed up her art bag. "Meet me down in the lower meadow by the creek in an hour," she said over her shoulder as she went flying out of the room.

She stopped in the kitchen. "Freya, may I fix a picnic lunch?" she asked the cook, who turned, hands on hips, smile wide.

"Don't bother, Lion. I'll get right to it. For two?" the woman asked with a sly smile and Leonie laughed, giving the older woman a hug.

_For two._ _What a wonderful pair of words_. Leonie smiled happily, giving the older woman another hug. They worked together, stuffing some cold chicken, bread, cheese, grapes, cider and two small mugs into a pack, followed by some linen napkins and a slab of Freya's famous apple cake.

With a wave and a thanks, Leonie went out into the courtyard and called on Janby, the stable master.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning, Janby. They have posted me to Lydes. I will need Vixen saddled and ready by dawn."

"So it's true? Ah, I'm sad to hear that, Lion. But you're a fine addition to the Grey Wardens. You'll do us proud."

"I will certainly try, Janby. Thank you."

Spring clung to the air, sweet and crisp and full of hope. Leonie swung her pack and art bag onto her back and ran through the swaying grass. She should be packing. She should be saying her goodbyes. But the hardest goodbye would be the one with Duncan and selfishly she wanted as much time with him as possible before that goodbye.

He was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, long legs outstretched and arms folded. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. He looked younger and somehow vulnerable as he dozed. She stood quietly, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, so full of love for him that it was almost a physical ache.

Taking out her charcoal and paper, she began to sketch him in long, quick strokes. She knew she would never be able to do him justice, but she drew the slight hook of his aquiline nose and the full, sensuous lips that seemed so seldom to curve into a smile.

She knew he had had a hard life, without knowing details. And whenever she asked him where he was from or about his family, he told a different tale until she finally stopped asking and just supplied her own history of him. From the swarthy skin to his dark hair and eyes, she knew he must have Rivaini blood somewhere in his lineage. And he had once claimed his mother was from Rivain. Of course he had also claimed she was from the Anderfels.

She glanced from her sketch to her subject and found he was watching her, a quirk of a smile gracing his lips.

"Surely you can find a better subject to sketch than this old man?" he queried, closing his eyes again.

"If I didn't know better I would say you were fishing for a compliment," she returned, grinning.

"But you're right, no doubt. Plenty of young, good looking men back at the compound. Shall I go have a look?" she added, her grin becoming a chuckle, watching him for a reaction.

Duncan growled and gave her a look that seared her blood and made it pool in delicious places. She set her sketch aside and straddled him, dropping light kisses on his nose, his eyelids, his brows, before settling on his lips. He brought his arms around her, pulling her against him as his hands untied the strip of leather that bound her hair. He buried his hands in the loose curls and deepened the kiss. Her hands set to work unlacing his shirt. The aching heat in her started to spread and grow and her breath was hot and ragged.

Then her stomach growled. Ferociously. She blushed as Duncan chuckled in her ear.

"Ah, the _appetites_ of the wardens," he said, his voice thick with innuendo.

"I can wait to eat _lunch_," she replied with a wicked smile. She bent down and nipped at his neck. And then her stomach growled again and they both laughed.

"Or perhaps not."


	6. Chapter 6

**Intentions**

Dinner was a somber affair. Nila had obviously been crying, her face still puffy and her eyes rimmed in red. Only Montran seemed to be in high humor. Leonie ignored him, concentrating on trying to get her meal past the large lump in her throat. She had promised Duncan, as they lay tangled together in the lush meadow grass, that she would not cry. She intended to keep that promise even if it killed her. At the moment it felt as though it just might.

After dinner, Leonie began to make the rounds, saying good bye to her fellow Grey Wardens, her family. Each man held a special place in her heart. She knew their history. She had grown up amongst them.

She saved the two she knew the best for last, valiantly fighting the tears because Maker knew she would not hear the end of it if she cried.

Ceres held onto her as if he were a drowning man and she his only hope. "Maker watch over you, Lion. And keep a hand on your hilt," he said, eyeing Montran with a barely disguised sneer.

"Worry not, dear Ceres. He has more to fear than I do. His hands are like lumps of unrisen dough. He couldn't fight if his life depended on it. How did he ever get to be the Commander of the Grey?"

"Politics, what else? He's from a highly placed noble family. A rich family at that. Rumor is that his family purchased his title. But for all that, he was conscipted." Ceres answered, not bothering to hide his contempt.

"The First Warden really ought to get out amongst the troops once in awhile," Leonie replied, frowning slightly.

With another hug and whispered farewells, she moved on to Riordan, who pulled her down on his lap with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Well, lass, it's time to start a new adventure. Are you ready?"

"No, but I will be in the morning. I've little choice."

"Write, lass. And if you need anything, we'll be there for you."

"Riordan, if my father starts showing signs of –"

"Never worry, Lion. I'll let you know, though he's just tough enough to last another ten years."

She pressed her forehead to his, trying to let him know how much she loved him. He had always been there, helping her, training her, guiding her. He was as much a part of her life as her mother and father. He was her big brother in so many ways.

"And Lion? Take care of Duncan. He's a good man who is _almost _deserving of you," Riordan whispered and she nodded, throat too clogged with tears to do more. She gave him a hug and stood up.

She could not bring herself to say her goodbyes to her parents in front of everyone else so she went upstairs to wait for them. And later, Duncan would come to her and they would have their good bye. Leonie bit back the tears again. For a wild moment, she wanted to run, to just kick off her shoes and go running out into the night and back to her childhood.

Her parents were clinging to each other as they entered her room and she saw the tears sliding down her mother's cheeks. _Oh Maker, don't let me cry!_

"Mama, don't cry so. I am only three days away and I will come as often as I can to visit. And you must come and visit me, yes?" Leonie comforted, hugging her mother to her tightly. She turned to do the same to her father.

"Do not cross Montran, Leonie. He is a dangerous man."

"I won't, Papa. But neither will I allow him to take liberties of any kind. You taught me to speak for up for myself, and so I shall."

And then they stood silently, holding on to Leonie, and she to them.

"You were always our little miracle, Lion," her mother whispered, the words tearstained and tender.

And then she was alone, standing in her room feeling bereft.

She began to unhook her dress, arms twisted behind her back to reach them, when she felt a pair of familiar, calloused hands helping her. She turned, throwing herself into Duncan's arms and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"I didn't think it would be so hard," she whispered against his warm, dark skin. She felt his hands move up to caress her shoulders and felt his lips kiss the crown of her head. She stayed there for several moments, collecting herself.

"Thank you, Duncan," she finally whispered. He pulled back and looked down at her, tipping her chin up so he could see her eyes. She saw the question in his gaze.

"I saw you talking to Papa this morning. I know you were talking about me. Or us. I just want to thank you for being with me for these few days."

Leonie stopped, waiting for the tightness in her chest to lessen. A promise had been made. She would keep it. Clearing her throat, she continued.

"I know you are bothered by the difference in our ages. If it is too – too difficult for you, I will understand. I don't want you to feel guilty or distressed by this," she finished in a rush.

Lowering her lids, she tried to turn away from him, but Duncan held her chin firmly. "Open your eyes, Leonie," he commanded quietly and she obeyed.

"I can't give you everything you deserve, and our time together won't be nearly as much as we would like, but I am here because I want to be. Never doubt that."

The hand squeezing her heart relinquished its hold and Leonie nodded, a small smile skittering across her face.

* * *

"_So, you are the Commander of the Grey Wardens. We have much to discuss, Leonie Caron."_

_She stared up in horror at the darkspawn that was not quite darkspawn as he spoke to her, his voice almost a caress. She struggled against the restraints that held her, frantic and horrified to find herself in a laboratory, held captive by a talking darkspawn. She could feel the magic emanating from him, dark and tainted. She could feel that tainted magic slipping into her mind, her blood..._

Leonie jerked awake, struggling against the bonds that held her in place, breath heaving in her chest.

"Hush, Leo. It's alright. It's just a nightmare," Duncan whispered in her ear and she realized that the bonds that held her in place were his arms. She relaxed against his hold.

"Maker's mercy, I hate these dreams. It's one thing to be running with them in the Deep Roads. It is another thing to be held captive in a laboratory while they talk to you," she mumbled, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes, trying to erase the dream.

"What? What did you say?" Duncan asked sharply. He sat up and the lamp flared brightly.

She turned to him, blinking at the light flooding the room. His face was tense and darkly frowning, something unreadable in his eyes. A shiver chased along her spine. Fear. It was fear in his eyes.

"Tell me about your nightmare, Leonie, every detail," he demanded and his voice was brusque.

She relayed the dream to him and watched as the frown deepened. "I think he must have been an emissary. I could feel the magic coming off him but it wasn't like Ceres's magic at all. Dark. Twisted. He knew my name but not my rank. He called me Commander of the Grey."

Duncan pushed the covers back and swung off the bed, reaching for his clothes. "I need you to write this all down. We need to report this to Weisshaupt."

"What? Why? Surely it's just one of those Warden dreams?"

"Possibly. Hopefully. But I met a talking emissary once, years ago. And I don't dream about him."

Leonie scurried off the bed and grabbed her discarded dress, fear turning her fingers clumsy as she tried to hook her dress. "You _met _a talking darkspawn?"

"Yes, and it is a long story that I am not at liberty to tell you. But trust me, this is important."

Leonie nodded and went to her small writing desk, trimming a quill with quick strokes.

"Do you think you could make a sketch of him to include with the report?"

By the time she was finished with the report and the sketch, the household was beginning to stir and it was time for Leonie to get ready to leave.

"You are not to tell anyone else about this dream, Leonie."

There was such an authoritative tone to his voice, she didn't even consider asking him why.

A short time later, she came downstairs in her splint mail, armed with her shield and sword. She gave the great hall one more look before leaving, savoring the memories that rushed into her before turning and walking out into the yard.

They were gathered there, in the golden gray light of dawn, waiting for her. Montran was mounted, his great bay stamping impatiently. His second, Veralis, sat tall and straight in his saddle, eyes already on the horizon.

The Grey Wardens of Jader, as one, saluted her as she came into view. And once again she had to open her eyes very wide to keep the tears from pooling.

Duncan came to her then, walking with that quiet grace of his. He took her into his arms and, in front of everyone, lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that left no doubt as to his feelings toward Leonie. She was breathless when he finished and every nerve ending was tingling.

His intentions were obvious enough for even Montran to understand.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **_Thank you to all who have alerted and/or reviewed. You brighten my day more than you can imagine._

**Letters and Losses**

_My dearest Duncan,_

_The trip here with Montran was interesting, to say the least. He advanced, I dodged. He advanced again, I parried. You have no idea how often I wanted to shield bash the fool as subtlety is not his strong suit. _

_I have finally found a rhythm to my days here. The men, while not exactly overjoyed to have an 'Orlesian wallflower' in their midst, are at last beginning to accept me. I think beating Lamuel (the senior warden here) during a practice session helped a great deal. Thank you for showing me that trick with the dagger, it helped. And no, I did not straddle his chest and crow in triumph. I save that for my duels with you. Have I made you blush? _

_The compound is very small and I am, as I feared, sharing a room with the men. They have erected a small screened off area for me so I am afforded some measure of privacy, but I suspect I'll just have to get over any modesty I might feel. You would be shocked to see how quickly I am in and out of the bathtub. Quit laughing, you horrid man!_

_I have heard from Mama and also Riordan. They think Papa's Calling is soon. I have tried my entire life to accept that this moment would come but still it is difficult. I will travel with them to Orzammar when the time comes. I worry about Mama. She has mentioned going home to Ferelden, to Goldenvale in the Bannorn. I would not want her so far from me but I understand her desire to go back to her home._

_I am about to go out to investigate a darkspawn sighting east of here. Several men were killed, and more worrisome, a woman is missing. Morley, the warden from Ostwick, is going as well. He certainly is a dour fellow, but unfailingly courteous. And perhaps dour is less accurate than distant. _

_Lamuel informed me that it takes twenty three days for letters from here to reach Denerim. I am not sure how he came by that knowledge, but I hope that this finds its way to you sooner. _

_The courier should be here soon._

_I miss you, my Rivaini pirate. More than I can say._

_I remain ever your,_

_Lion_

Leonie sealed the letter with wax and her lion signet before placing it in the small leather pouch for the courier. She wanted to wait for the courier's arrival but knew that Lamuel and Morley were saddled and waiting.

Lamuel gave her a small smile as she all but bounced in her saddle. "Looking forward to a fight?"

"Absolutely, ser. I am not used to sitting for so long."

He chuckled and she glanced at him. A small man, wiry and deadly with a bow, he was kind in a gruff way and since besting him, he had been more respectful. But in the three weeks since she had arrived, there was still a bit of reticence in his behavior toward her. She had noticed it with the others as well and she decided to ask about it.

"Do you suppose, Senior Warden Lamuel, that you will ever feel more comfortable around me?"

Lamuel cast her a startled look and then gave a gruff laugh. "Not as long as Montran's threat is still fresh my mind," he replied.

"Montran's threat?" Leonie asked, feeling a tug of apprehension pull at her stomach.

"He said you were his and that we risked his retribution if any one of us even looked at you wrong. Charsans is his lapdog, so don't expect any of us to be more than polite, Warden Leonie."

"That arrogant, overstuffed, insufferable ass! I am not his in any form or fashion, nor have I ever been. Nor ever will be. And he knows this," Leonie burst out, furious. How dare that bastard.

"Well that's a relief. I wasn't sure why someone like you would be with his ilk," Morley said, grinning widely and looking decidedly less distant.

"I would rather kiss a genlock on the mouth then spend five seconds in that man's company," she assured him and then shivered at that image. "Or perhaps not on the mouth," she amended. The men laughed.

"Well, Montran's lapdog is still an issue. He sends reports to Montsimmard and Val Royeaux every few days."

"I shall have a chat with Charsans when we get back to the compound. I want no special treatment, Senior Warden Lamuel."

"Then none you'll get, Leonie."

After that, the men began to be more cordial and less suspicious and distant. She let Charsans know that he risked a far greater wrath than Montran's if he didn't stop sending reports. As she was holding the point of her dagger at his throat at the time, she was confident he got the message.

* * *

_My fierce Lion,_

_I can only imagine the poor man who dares to call you an Orlesian wallflower. By now I am sure you have won them all over. _

_Exercise discretion, Montran is more dangerous than you appreciate. He is more Chevalier than Grey Warden. I have a contact in Val Royeaux and another in Montsimmard and have asked them to be my eyes and ears. I'm sure that upsets you, Lion. I know you can handle yourself, but I also know that if Montran knows he is being watched, he is less likely to cause you problems._

_I will do all that I can to be in Orzammar when the time comes. Be strong, Lion. Your mother will need your strength, and I will lend you mine._

_I lost two recruits in the last Joining. No matter how much I prepare myself, it is always difficult. They were fine lads and eager to make a difference. It seems an ugly choice, doesn't it? To sacrifice these brave lads but the alternative is unthinkable._

_The other two recruits are good men, strong and able and will make a fine addition to our ranks. One of them, Linus, is from Goldenvale and knows your uncle, Bann Renfrew. _

_I still need more than thirty wardens in Ferelden and it is vital that we have more outposts. To that end I am meeting with King Maric and Teryn Loghain tomorrow. I do not foresee a change but I have to try. _

_Your report and sketch have been forwarded on to Weisshaupt. It will be many months before we hear anything, if we hear anything at all. The Anderfels Wardens and Weisshaupt in particular, seem to be unlike any of the other wardens. They are cold and hard and too interested in the politics of Anderfels to pay attention to the rest of Thedas. If you have any more dreams of this talking emissary let me know immediately. _

_You are in my thoughts, Leonie. May the Maker watch over you._

_Yours,  
Duncan_

Leonie read the letter three times before she finally folded it carefully and tucked it into a small chest. Of course he would not proclaim his love, but if she read carefully, she saw that he missed her and loved her. _Someday, Duncan, you will say those three words_.

* * *

Three months into her new assignment, Morley died. They were set upon by darkspawn as they were returning from a routine patrol. Vandhar, a Dalish hunter was with them. He was the first to feel their presence and stopped them.

"A dozen, maybe thirteen darkspawn just over the rise. Dismount."

Leonie slid off Vixen and pulled her shield off her back, affixing it to her left arm. She pulled out her sword, nodding to Vandhar that she was ready. Morley did the same. As they moved forward, to the top of the rise, Leonie felt the pull of her blood, as if it were trying to flow out of her veins and into the air around her. The closer they got to the group, the stronger the pull of her blood until it was so powerful it felt as though her blood was on fire, trying to burn its way out of her veins.

"Now," Vandhar whispered, nocking an arrow. Leonie charged forward into the nearest group of darkspawn, bashing and slashing her way through them, taunting them to remain fixed on her and not the others. She was the only one of the three in heavier armor. This was her job to protect the others so they could kill while she kept the enemy trained on her. Adrenaline and bloodlust coursed through her, filling her with strength and determination.

"Emissary! Take him out, Van!" she yelled as she saw the darkspawn caster raise his staff. But she was too late and Van was too slow. The spell caught Morley in the chest, knocking him down. She could hear his tortured scream as he writhed on the ground, but she could not stop and tend him.

Her shield caught a genlock under the chin and she brought the shield up and slid her sword through the exposed flesh of his neck before swiveling left and catching another with the tip of her sword, lunging forward to pierce through his eye.

And as suddenly as it started it was over. She was panting, sweat and darkspawn blood trickling down her face. She ran to Morley, dropping down beside him. His eyes were wide and vacant, his mouth still twisted in an agony he could no longer feel. She gently closed his eyes and whispered, "Maker guide your path."

"Get the horses, lethallan," Vandhar said, coming to kneel beside her.

Leonie felt numb as she brought the horses up. She handed the reins to Vandhar and then began to drag the dead darkspawn into a pile. They couldn't leave them to further taint the land or any hapless person who came upon them. Soon the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning flesh. Leonie choked and felt the bile rise in her, her stomach a hard lump. She retched and gagged and tears fell like silent rain.

"Here, use this and clean up."

Leonie looked up at took the waterskin from Van, her hands shaking. It was only then that she noticed that she was covered in blood, that is was dripping from her gauntlets.

"I'm sorry, Vandhar. I should have gone after the emissary first. I didn't see him in time," Leonie mumbled, splashing the water over her gauntlets. More tears fell and shame twisted through her, tearing at her heart like a serrated knife.

"No, Lethallan. This is the life of a Grey Warden. You are no more to blame than I am. We fight the darkest of things. Sometimes we win, sometimes they do."

As they rode back to the compound, Leonie replayed the fight over and over in her mind. She had rushed in like a hero from legend, rather than a trained warrior. She was to blame, at least in part. She glanced over at Morley and whispered, "I'm sorry, Morley. I am so sorry." Somehow the words felt inadequate. _She_ felt inadequate.

The following morning Leonie went to the training yard, savagely beating the training dummy into a mass of straw and cloth. She would learn. She would get strong enough to wear heavy plate and she would beat her adversary. She would study the strategy of warriors. This mistake would not repeat itself. She would not allow it.

Lamuel and Vandhar stood watching her.

"She blames herself."

"That's not an entirely bad thing, Van. Look at her train. She was good before. Now, if she continues, she will become deadly."

"But at what cost?" Vandhar asked softly.

"Whatever it takes, Van, no matter the cost. You know that."

* * *

_My Love,_

_We lost Morley two weeks ago. I cannot help but feel to blame for his death. I like to believe I am strong and wise beyond my years but I am not. There is so much to learn and because I have not learned as much as I should, a man is dead. He was good man who did not deserve his death at the hands of a darkspawn. But I was too slow, too green, to assess before charging in like a bloody hero. _

_I should have paid more attention to battleground tactics and less to painting, I think. I should have trained harder. Right now I feel like I am drowning in should haves and I don't know how to stop it, so I train. At least training pushes that shame, those should haves, down where they don't sound as loud. _

_I feel like that sixteen year old who cried for days because of Perot. But I try not to cry in front of the others. I am afraid they blame me as well and I couldn't bear to show them how weak I really am._

_I have not heard from Mama or Riordan in weeks now and on my last visit I could not help but notice how tired Papa seemed, for all that he denied it. I can only hope that things in Jader are well. _

_This letter is more complaint than news, isn't it? Never mind. I am sure by the time you receive this I will be back to my sunny self. You know me, too stubborn and proud to be otherwise._

_I love you, Duncan. I know you do not feel comfortable with those words, but I have to say them. My heart compels me to do so. _

_I remain your ever adoring,_

_Lion_

* * *

_My sweet Lion,_

_You will never get used to death. That is not a bad thing. I feel the death of every one of those who have died under my command. I carry their memory with me. Do not carry your shame, carry their memory. It is what makes us stronger. And you are strong, Leonie. Honor their sacrifice and let go of the guilt. It will destroy your soul if you do not. _

_I had hoped to be in Jader earlier this month but it seems that there is so much here to do in trying to reestablish a Grey Warden presence in Ferelden. _

_It confounds me how suspicious people are of the Grey Wardens but when pressed as to why, they can't tell me. To that end, I have asked Maric to allow me to address the next Landsmeet. Changing their opinion seems as likely as Loghain becoming a Champion of Orlais, but I have to try. __Loghain's influence with the Landsmeet is absolute. I believe his bitterness will cost this nation much in the event of a Blight. I am hopeful that Maric will find a reason to send Loghain away during the upcoming Landsmeet. _

_Take care of yourself, Lion. Stay strong and forgive yourself._

_Know that a man in Ferelden thinks of you constantly._

_Yours,_

_Duncan_


	8. Chapter 8

**Pressing Forward**

Riordan rode into the compound two months after Morley's death.

Leonie was in the practice yard, sparring with Lamuel, when she heard his voice. Dropping her practice weapon and shield in the dirt, she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

"I knew you loved me more than Duncan," he teased, swinging her around with a laugh.

"Duncan loves you?" she teased back, laughing with him.

He settled her back on her feet and as she met his eyes, she knew why he was there.

"So it is time to journey to Orzammar," she said quietly.

"Yes, lass. Go pack your things while I speak to Lamuel," he instructed, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Stopping only to give the horses a rest, they made Jader in a little less than two days.

Leonie was shocked at how grey and old her father looked, even though Riordan had tried to warn her. She saw dark splotches of taint on his wrist and his neck. He had almost waited too long and she knew he must be in a great deal of pain. She schooled her face, placing a cheerful smile on her lips as she greeted her parents.

"Papa, Mama! I have missed you both so much!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her father. She glanced over his shoulder and saw the pain in her mother's eyes.

That night they had a feast with all of the Jader Grey gathered. They toasted to past victories and future battles. Riordan gave a stirring speech about Balfour's leadership and guidance and friendship. At the end of it there was not a dry eye in the dining hall, save Leonie's. She knew if she started crying, she would not stop.

After the meal, Balfour went to each man and spoke briefly with to each before making his way over to Nila and Leonie. Placing an arm around each of them, he said, "I would not have been nearly the same man had these two women not been in my life." He bent and kissed each of them as the men cheered and clapped.

Leonie kept her tears at bay long enough to make it to her room. She threw herself on her bed and wept as soon as the door shut behind her. She laid for long hours, memories of her childhood her only companion.

Her father taking her to the training yard when she was only five and giving her a small wooden sword and showing her how to swing it. Her father telling her tales of the Wardens of old, soaring on the backs of snowy white griffins. Her father, holding her in his arms when she fell out of the tree and broke her arm for the first time. Her father's expression when she first told him she loved Duncan, full of love and pride and just a hint of sorrow.

Sleep eluded her and she sat in the window seat missing Duncan with a fierce ache and wondering how she would manage to get through the upcoming ordeal without him.

Five days later they entered Orzammar. As the massive gates swung back into place with a loud rumble, Leonie shivered. There was a terrible finality in the sound and she fought a moment of panic, feeling as though she was somehow being entombed here.

"Grey Wardens," a young dwarf, resplendent in the uniform of the King's Guard, bowed to them. He spoke the common language with very little accent. "I am Captain of the Guard Feldar."

"King Endrin Aeducan has arranged quarters for you in the Royal Palace and hopes that you will join him this evening for a private supper," he continued.

"Tell the king we thank him for his kindness and we will be honored to sup with him," Balfour replied with a stiff bow.

Leonie glanced at her father and saw the strain around his eyes and the tightness in his mouth. He was exhausted. She slipped her arm around his waist as they followed Captain Feldar and she felt her father's weight on her as he leaned against her.

Leonie had only been to Orzammar once, when she was six, and she stared around her in awe as they made their way through the Hall of Heroes and into the Commons. Everything about the Orzammar was large and imposing. The stone cut walls soared above them, creating a ceiling that was barely discernable as high up as it was. There were massive iron doors with intricate dwarven runes carved into them separating the various parts of the city. Lava flows kept the underground warm and brightly lit.

The palace was no less imposing. And huge. Leonie was grateful to be following Captain Feldar because she was hopelessly lost.

"These are your quarters, Commander Balfour," he said, ushering them into a large room. There was a sitting area in front of a massive fireplace with a large, elegantly scrolled screen separating it from the bedroom. A smaller room off the bedroom led to a bathroom, complete with running water and a large tub.

"Your quarters are just down the hall on the right, Warden Leonie. And yours, Senior Warden Riordan, are just across the hall," he added with another slight bow.

"I will leave you all to rest. A servant will come and escort you to supper at the seventh bell."

With that, Feldar departed.

"Go find your room and settle in, Leonie. I think I'll rest a bit."

Leonie nodded and gave her parents a hug, wondering why Riordan had nodded at her father. When she asked him, as they stepped into the hall, Riordan only shrugged enigmatically and entered his room, leaving her frowning slightly at his closed door.

As she entered her room, she noticed a tray on a small table. Two mugs of ale and enough food for an army were on the tray. "Obviously they think I'm a pig," she muttered wryly as she plucked up a hunk of lichen bread. Two steps led up to the bedroom and the largest bed she had ever seen. It was draped in thick maroon silk and looked decadent and inviting.

"It's about time you got here," Duncan growled, stepping out of the shadows.

Bread and pack hit the floor as she gave a startled exclamation and then flew into his waiting arms.

He bent to her, capturing her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss, one hand splayed against her lower back and the other tangled in her hair. His tongue plundered her mouth, searching for her tongue and she responded, feeling her blood thicken and heat, spreading through her in waves of want.

She found the thin leather strip holding his hair back and removed it, her hands snaking through his thick dark hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp. She felt his groan at her touch, his mouth still on hers. He moved backwards, toward the bed, still holding her, still kissing her. He fell back onto the bed, bringing her with him.

Clothes became the enemy. Leonie's hands found the laces on his linen shirt and began to untie them, dropping kisses along his chin and down his neck. With a twist and a yank, the shirt hit the ever growing pile of clothes. Her fingers ran along his sides, across his chest and then back down to the waist of his breeches. She felt his shudder as her lips followed the same path.

As soon as the last of their clothes hit the floor, Duncan rolled them over and she welcomed his weight, shifting her thighs. With a deep groan, he pushed inside her and another shudder chased through him as he stilled, his eyes closed, as if savoring the feeling, the moment. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs gently along his cheeks. He opened his eyes then and she saw the hunger and longing in his gaze. They lay that way for several minutes.

"I love you, Duncan," she whispered.

She flexed her muscles around him, moving her hands to his shoulders, digging into them, urging him.

And then he was plunging into her, hard and fast. He bent and brought her nipple into his mouth, biting gently. Her mind and heart soared with her body, up and over the precipice in a long, quivering cry. He came with her, his own voice deep and rough as he cried her name.

"We'll have to try that again," she murmured a few moments later, giving him a smile. He chuckled, rolling over onto his back and tucking her into his side.

"You must think I'm younger than I am," he replied gruffly, still slightly out of breath.

"I think you are perfect and as young as you need to be," she responded, fingers caressing his chest in languorous circles. In the dim light of the room, she could see his ruddy complexion deepen and knew he was blushing.

"You think to flatter me into another round, do you?" he asked with another chuckle.

"That depends," she replied with a smile.

"On what?"

"Whether it will work on not."

Duncan laughed and pulled her closer. "You, my lovely Lion, are too impish for your own good."

Leonie pulled her head back and stared at him. "You think I'm lovely?" she asked, truly surprised.

Duncan gazed down at her and she saw a small frown appear on his face. "Surely I have told you that before," he said quietly.

Leonie thought back and tried to remember if he had ever complimented her on her looks. She didn't believe he had. Her strength, yes. Her determination, absolutely. But her looks? Not that she could remember. And it didn't matter to her, she knew he wanted to be with her and that was all that mattered to her. She had always understood he was not a man of flowery compliments and she preferred that. There was enough empty flattery at court.

"I'm not sure you have. But it doesn't matter. That you want me is enough," she assured him honestly, without guile.

He sat up and Leonie saw a look of anger flash across his dark features. His eyes pierced her. For a wild moment Leonie was afraid that she had upset him.

"How do you put up with me?" he asked, his voice rough.

Leonie sat up then as well, turning to sit cross legged on the bed, facing him. "I do not 'put up' with you, Duncan. I love you because you are kind and honorable and good. Whoever you were in your past, you are not that same person now. And whatever hurt you suffered in your past, you will not suffer at my hands."

Duncan stared at her for a long moment before reaching out unsteady fingers and tracing the planes of her cheeks. "You are more than lovely, Leonie. You take my breath away and if I truly was as honorable as you think, I would have told you that before now."

Leonie felt herself blush at his words and she leaned in, resting her forehead against his, unable for the moment to speak.

And then he spoke the three words she had longed to hear. "I love you," he whispered, kissing her softly.

* * *

Dressed in their Warden armor, they gathered at the large steel doors leading into the Deep Roads. Leonie, gripping Duncan's hand in hers, watched as the doors swung open and the dwarves saluted her father. She dropped her hand and withdrew her sword. With a nod from Riordan, each of the Wardens lifted their sword high in salute.

"In death, sacrifice," Riordan said quietly. Leonie and Duncan repeated the words and Balfour acknowledged them with a grim smile.

Her mother stood back, but she was smiling bravely at Balfour, her eyes remarkably dry. Pride flooded through Leonie, watching the strength in her mother. She could only hope that she had that much strength someday.

"Atrasta nal tunsha, Warden Balfour," Captain Feldar said, bowing.

"May you always find your way in the dark, my friend," Duncan said quietly.

Her father bowed to the group and then turned to face the Deep Roads. Armed with his greatsword, he moved forward. Without another look back, he stepped out into the darkness. Tears burned behind her closed lids, but as a Warden she would not let them fall, to do so was to dishonor the sacrifice her father had made. Later, in her room, she would let them fall. But not here and now.

Leonie began to shake when the great steel doors clanged shut behind him. Her mother turned and began to walk away, Riordan at her side.

Leonie felt a wave of sorrow sweep through her. In less than ten years she would be here watching Duncan and Riordan find their way in the dark. And some day she too would take that long walk into the deepest, darkest places.

She understood, finally, what Duncan had meant when he told her that Wardens must press forward, always forward. The specter of Death and the sacrifices she would have to make would surely be looming ever closer if she were to look back. With a shiver, she kept her hand in Duncan's and her face forward as they made their way back to the palace.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **_I just want to thank all of you who have put this story on alert or favorite status and reviewed, as well as those lurking. It makes writing such a pleasure knowing someone out there is enjoying what I write._

**Lovely and Lethal**

**Val Royeaux, 2 years later**

Everything about the city was _grand_, Leonie thought with an ironic twist of her lips.

Stretching out before her was the Grand Boulevard of the Divine, running from the Grand Imperial Palace to the Grand Cathedral of the Divine. Trees lined the boulevard and at every intersection, a marble statue stood amidst a bright profusion of flowers and greenery.

The Cathedral, constructed on a tall rise, was built of pink granite, the kind found only in the famous quarries of the Gamordan Peaks to the west. At sunset, the pink granite appeared to glow in a rich peach color, as if it was able to capture the rays of the sun itself. The towers and arches of the cathedral supported hanging gardens, scenting the air and adding rich color to the façade. The famous Divine choir, four hundred strong, could be heard as they sung the Chant, a haunting, beautiful sound that mixed in perfect harmony with the sounds of the city of Val Royeaux.

Color graced everything about Val Royeaux, from the profusion of flowers, to the banners that adorned the wide boulevards, to the nobles themselves in their peacock silks. And then there were sounds. The gentle stirring of the trees from the constant sea breeze, the rustle of silk, the chanters singing night and day, the lilting Orlesian spoken. Val Royeaux lit every sense with an abundance of impressions.

Leonie stood on her balcony and listened to the sounds. A cool sea breeze caressed her cheeks, blowing her hair into disarray. Her balcony, off a charming suite on the third floor of the Grey Warden compound, located on the Grand Imperial Palace grounds, was her haven. It was here she came to divest herself of armor and anger, letting the pretentious airs of the nobility and Montran fall away with each piece of armor that fell to the floor.

Duncan once described Val Royeaux as a beautiful but brutal city and its denizens both lovely and lethal. Now that she had lived here for four months, she could understand his description much better. Val Royeaux was beautiful on the surface and becoming more so as the renaissance under Celene I's reign took root. But underneath, it was teaming with cruel and brutal nobles, playing the Grand Game.

Leonie had trouble comprehending the Grand Game. As a warrior she was used to straight up battles, fighting an enemy she could not only see, but feel. In Val Royeaux, all the nobles fought for prominence in a battle that was subtle, full of innuendo and rumors, made more manageable by the bards they all seemed to employ. She could not look at even the servants as ordinary servants, wondering often who was a spy or saboteur. Trust came slowly, if at all.

She avoided the actual palace as much as she could, even though she was, by Celene's own reckoning, a distant cousin to the Empress. She preferred the training yards and offices of her fellow Grey Wardens, with the exception of Montran. Because she was the training officer she was kept busy and always had a ready excuse for not attending court functions.

With a sigh of regret, Leonie turned away from her view and stepped into her rooms. Except for tonight, when the ceremony at the Grand Imperial Palace was for _her_. She stared at the ornate silk dress that hung on the outside of her armoire, wondering if she could feign a headache or Grey Warden business, even knowing that she could not.

Really, she had no business being honored by Empress Celene. Uncovering the assassination plot had been a complete accident. She had, quite literally, stumbled into the assassin because she was lost, once again, in the labyrinth of hallways and corridors that marked the palace. Had the assassin not been in such a hurry to get away from her, Leonie knew she would never have been suspicious of the beautiful woman dressed in the Imperial uniform of the personal staff of Empress Celene.

The moment Leonie offered her a hand up, the woman had tried to run, her eyes darting for an escape. Leonie had held her hand firmly in hers as she bent to retrieve the tray and its contents. The woman had tugged frantically at her hand and it wasn't until she kicked Leonie in the back of her knee that Leonie realized the maid was not really a maid at all. With her free hand, she had reached over and hit the now struggling woman in the face with a gauntleted fist. The woman had crumpled with a grunt of surprise and pain.

The tea that the assassin had been delivering to Empress Celene was poisoned. As the woman would no doubt have had to taste the tea first, in the presence of the Empress, Leonie could only assume that she had the antidote on her and that the poison was slow acting enough that she would have time to leave the room first.

So, through her own clumsiness and innate ability to get lost walking from one side of a room to the other, she was being honored with a new title. Leonie ran a hand through her hair, wishing again for someplace to hide. _The Lion of Orlais? Really? It was too ridiculous for words. And embarrassing. _

There was a timid tap at her door and she opened it, admitting a young elven woman in the livery of the Grey Warden servants. A woman handpicked by Leonie, from the Jader Alienage.

"Good evening Lady Leonie. I have come to help you prepare."

"Marliss, do you think perhaps you could bring yourself to call me Leonie? I am a Grey Warden, as well you know. We do not have titles."

"I do not believe I can, Lady Leonie," the maid replied with the smallest hint of a smile.

"I would be more than willing to increase your salary two fold, should you manage it," Leonie cajoled with a matching hint of a smile. It was a conversation that occurred with regularity.

"With my reputation in tatters over misconduct, My Lady, no amount of money would save me."

Leonie sighed again. "No, I suppose not. In that case, a bath if you please, Marliss."

There was no getting out of it, she knew. With a grunt of frustration, she sank into the large bathtub. Her consolation was the expression Duncan would wear when he heard her new title. He would try very hard not to smile, but she knew his dark eyes would be full of mirth and that his chuckle, deep in his chest, would rumble in the most wonderful of ways. And he would be here in four days.

It seemed so long since she had seen him, much longer than the three months it had actually been. The reunion had been like every reunion they had, passionate and entirely too short, full of talks late into the night, and long walks and making love as often as the mood struck them, which was often, to Leonie's delight.

Another sigh, this one more content, as her thoughts lingered on Duncan. She leaned back against the cool tiled wall behind the bathtub, wondering how it was possible to love someone as much as she did Duncan, yet fall even deeper in love with him every time they were together. Would it be the same, she wondered, if they actually lived together, spent all their time together? She couldn't imagine it, somehow. It was perhaps the separations that made their time together so meaningful.

"My Lady would not be stalling would she?" Marliss called from the bedroom.

Well, yes she was, but she would not admit it, not even to Marliss. "No, I'm ready for that abomination of a dress."

Marliss huffed in indignation. "This is no mere dress, Lady Leonie. This is a creation from the Imperial Couturier."

"Yes, of course, that is exactly what I meant," Leonie muttered, pulling on a silk chemise before stepping into the dress. All evidence to the contrary, she thought the dress was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.

The lightly boned bodice was sculpted of midnight blue silk to fit snugly and show to advantage her creamy shoulders and long neck. The sleeves were long, fitted at the wrist with silver knotwork. Leonie appreciated the long sleeves as they hid the heavy callous of her shield arm, as well as the numerous nicks and scars from years of swordplay. The full skirt, a lighter blue with more silver knotwork, fell in graceful folds, swishing softly as she moved. It was impossible _not_ to feel like a graceful and beautiful woman in such a dress.

Leonie gave a chuff of laughter at that thought. It was her clumsiness that had allowed her to own such a dress. It seemed ironic that it made her feel graceful.

Marliss opened a small velvet case and Leonie gasped. Inside was a delicate silverite Lion Guardant on an intricately linked silverite chain. The eyes of the lion were set with matching sapphires.

"From her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene," Marliss said, slipping the pendant around Leonie's neck and fastening it.

"She is really too generous for her own good," Leonie said quietly. "I did not do anything so heroic as to deserve such a gift," she continued, feeling embarrassed.

"To refuse it would be the highest insult imaginable," Marliss said firmly. "And I would not want to lose my position because of it."

Leonie raised an eyebrow at Marliss. "I am not _that_ ignorant of protocol, Marliss. Nor would I want you to lose your position. Nor me my head, come to think of it. Of course I will accept the gift."

Truth be told, she loved the pendant and it matched her outfit to perfection. Which made Leonie wonder if the couturier had actually had a hand in its design.

There was a loud knock on the door and Leonie turned from the mirror, batting away Marliss's small hands as they tried in vain to pat Leonie's hair into place.

Montran stood on the other side of the door. Had Leonie been the one to open the door, she would have gladly slammed it in his face, but Marliss was beckoning him in and Leonie had nowhere to go, short of jumping off the balcony.

"You look stunning, Leonie," he said with a hunger in his eyes that made her mouth go dry.

"There is no need to escort me, Warden Commander Montran."

"My dear, with your knack for getting lost, there is every need," he said and flashed her a smile that was charming and unsettling.

In the months that she had been here, Leonie had gone out of her way to avoid Montran. Bertran, a senior warden and friend of Duncan's, was particularly adept at keeping Montran away from her. Sometimes the best laid plans went awry and tonight was obviously one of those times.

Her hesitation did not go unnoticed.

Montran stepped closer to her, bending in a formal bow. "Don't tell me that the famous Lion of Orlais is nervous?" he said, his voice silky quiet

With a sinking feeling in her chest and a last longing look at the balcony, she took his proffered arm and let herself be escorted out of the room and toward the Grand Ballroom.

* * *

Empress Celene I, a striking brunette in her late twenties, was standing on a raised dais, lifting her wine goblet in Leonie's direction. Leonie, cheeks scarlet, dropped a small curtsey and flashed a quick smile before downing her wine in one swift gulp. After that, her nerves calmed and she floated around the ballroom in the arms of one noble after another, gulping yet more wine whenever she was able to snatch a goblet off the tray of a wandering servant.

Even when she stopped dancing, the room still seemed to spin just a bit. In fact, the room was becoming a bit too warm and a bit too bright for her and it registered, somewhere in the back of her wine befuddled brain that she ought to excuse herself and stumble back to her apartment before she made a fool of herself. To that end, she found herself dropping a curtsey to Empress Celene and bidding her a good night.

"Remember that I wish to discuss King Maric's upcoming visit with you, Leonie. My secretary will contact you tomorrow."

"As you wish, your Imperial Highness," Leonie was able to answer, hoping her words were not as slurred as her mind.

The empress laughed, her green eyes twinkling. "Montran, be a dear and escort the Lion of Orlais back to her rooms. She seems to be a bit…tired."

Montran, whom she had studiously avoided most of the evening, appeared at her side, taking her arm in his. "With pleasure," he replied and there was an edge to his voice that made even Leonie's wine addled brain take notice.

They wound their way through the hallways in silence. Leonie wanted to yank her arm away from Montran's possessive grasp but she knew that she was in no shape to walk on her own. Berating herself for her idiocy, she continued along the corridor, trying not to stumble. Which wasn't easy. She really wanted to go to sleep and just make everything stop spinning.

Montran stopped suddenly, fumbling in his pocket before producing a key and unlocking a door in the wall behind him. Leonie stopped, pulling away from him. "This is not the right way, Montran. What game are you playing?" she asked, fixing him with a glare.

"No game, dear Leonie. A shortcut, that is all," Montran replied, his voice smooth and placating. He reached out and took her arm again, his grip surprisingly strong for all that his hands were white and doughy.

Leonie tried to pull away again, using her free hand to leverage herself but as the door shut behind her, he pushed her into a wall, his face inches from her own.

"Yes, little one, please struggle."

Leonie turned her head away from him, trying at the same time to bring her knee up to his groin but the voluminous skirt slowed the momentum and it was more of a rub to the groin than a kick. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest as she fought the panic off, trying to think, to find an escape.

Montran let out a small laugh, his breath fanning her cheek. He gripped her wrists in one hand, pulling them over her head as his body insinuated itself against her.

She felt his lips on her neck and closed her eyes, fighting down a need to struggle. If he wanted her to struggle, he would be disappointed. "You will die for this, Montran," she whispered with conviction. But her blood was ice in her veins and her brain was having wrapped in a thick fog.

"I _am_ dying, Leonie, as are you. Whether it happens tonight or two years from now or twenty years from now matters not. But I won't die before I have caged the lion, eh?"

A shiver ran the length of her spine as understanding made its way into her wine coated brain. The taint was driving him mad.

She had seen it happen before, in Jader. The man had slowly gone crazy, finally attacking himself with a knife, trying to cut the taint out of his blood. She had heard of it happening when the Calling came early and the warden fought it. Like Montran was doing now. Younger than Riordan and Duncan, he was clearly being driven insane by the taint.

He moved, dragging her behind him down the dimly lit passageway. Spider webs and the scurrying of small creatures taunted her fraying nerves. As they descended, the air turned dank and stale, the flickering torches fewer, their shadows chasing along the wall beside them.

"Montran," she began, her voice more breathless than she wanted. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"Montran, there is no need for this. I will – I will go back to your rooms, yes?"

He stopped then, turning to face her. He stared into her eyes intently and she tried to soften her look, to show that her offer was sincere. He took his free hand and ran a finger along her cheek, a smile softening his features.

"If only that were so, my love," he whispered and she heard the sorrow in his voice.

Her fear bloomed again, like a wildvine that was sending offshoots into her veins and twining around her heart. _He doesn't mean for either of us to live._ She gasped as that fact hit her like a physical blow. And her next thought was of Duncan. Her breath left her in a rush. He would not forgive himself if something happened to her at Montran's hands.

Montran stopped before another door that he pushed open, locking it behind them. He pocketed the key.

"Welcome, my lovely lion. Welcome to your cage," Montran said with a mocking laugh.

At least, Leonie thought, her mind slipping into hysteria, there were no real bars. She should be grateful for that, she wanted to be grateful for that but even without bars, it seemed unlikely that she would be able to escape. As her eyes flitted around the room, taking in the large bed, the candelabra and a wash stand, she saw a leather whip, lying across the bed and her mind faltered before crashing to a halt. It was a lethal looking whip, long and coiled with knots tied at the ends of the leather.

Because her mind was not functioning as it should, she wondered who had managed to get such a large bed down those narrow halls. And how, come to that. And then her eyes settled on the whip again.

She had seen a whip like that once, and only once. She had gone to the Imperial Menagerie when she was eight, fascinated by the wild animals. As she had stood in front of the lion's cage, a man had come out, holding such a whip. He used it to control the lions through pain, cracking it along the ground and over them when they disobeyed. She had felt angry and sad for the lions, those once proud animals now crouching in fear, broken. Like she was about to be, if the whip was any indication.

She watched in horror as he leaned down and caressed the whip before taking it up and turning, his smile chilling her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: ** Warning: **_This chapter contains__** violent and disturbing imagery**__ and may be too intense for some readers. It is not necessary to read this chapter in order to understand future chapters_**

_Thank you, as always, to all those reading this. Your insights and reviews help tremendously. _

**A Lion Caged**

"You need to remove your dress, Leonie. You don't want to wrinkle it," Montran said and although his voice was quiet, it was also implacable.

Twisting her arms behind her back, she began to struggle with the hooks. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, leaking slowly down her cheeks. Her fingers, stiff with fear, refused to obey her instructions.

In one fluid movement, the whip came up and cracked the floor beside her. She flinched, the noise sharp and incredibly loud in the quiet room.

"Quickly, dear," he instructed, coiling the whip again.

Her mouth dry, her fingers shaking, she managed two hooks before she felt a searing pain in her side and back as the whip wrapped around her like a lover's embrace. She bit down on her lower lip, refusing to let escape the scream that clawed at her throat.

"You must know that people will look for us Montran," she said finally and hated the pleading tone that shaded her words.

"They won't find us in time, though. That is the thing, isn't it Leonie. Time."

She finally got her dress unhooked enough that she could slide it down her hips and step out of it, leaving her in her chemise and small clothes. She shivered, not entirely from the cold. Along her side and back the tracks of the whip stung and she could feel a slight dampness along that same track, knew that the wound was weeping, just as she longed to do. Skin had been torn away where the knots of the whip had struck, burning angrily.

"Did I ever tell you how I became a Grey Warden?" Montran asked, his tone so casual that it flustered her into shaking her head.

"I am Stefan Deverat's son. Have you heard of him?"

Leonie searched desperately for the answer. The name was familiar but she couldn't find the answer, it was locked away behind the mind numbing fear.

He looked expectantly at her, an eyebrow raised. "No?"

"I have heard of him, yes. But I – I don't remember why."

The whip cracked again and this time she could not bite back the scream that reverberated off the walls. Her chemise tore, revealing the ugly welt, oozing with blood.

"Think harder, Lion."

Leonie took a deep breath and then another, steeling herself, willing her brain to start functioning. A vague recollection teased at her. Was it right? Would it matter?

"He was Empress Celene's most trusted general. He was killed in a duel."

The whip hit her again, bringing her to her knees. "It was _not_ a duel. He was murdered by a bard, hired by the Warden Commander of Orlais at the time."

Leonie lay on the floor, trying not to whimper as the pain pulsated through her.

"And you killed the Warden Commander?"

Another crack, falling across her shoulders, snapping and biting at her flesh like a rabid dog.

"My dear, do you know nothing? I killed his son. The Warden Commander conscripted me to prevent my beheading."

The panic was rising again, out of control like a wildfire, burning at the edges of her reason.

"A beheading would have been far kinder. But I suspect the Warden Commander knew that."

He laughed then, and the sound of his laugh was so warm and friendly that she was startled into looking at him. He looked down, meeting her gaze and she saw concern in there for a blink of time. That frightened her almost more than the whip.

"My dear, you're bleeding," he said in sincere surprise and came to kneel beside her, touching her shoulder gently. He bent and she felt his lips trailing along the welt. Her stomach lurched and for a wild moment she thought she was going to be sick all over the floor.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her shoulder and she shivered as his tongue came out and lapped at the trail of blood across her shoulders. She gagged, gripping her hands in front of her, begging her stomach to keep its contents.

But in another blink, he was up, his voice hot and angry again. "That bastard! He poisoned me, leaving me to die this slow, tortuous death." He cracked the whip in anger, dust flying as the tip hit the floor with a loud snap.

"I had a future that he took away from me. I never wanted this," he said and to her horror, she heard tears in his voice and looked up again. His face was damp from his tears and his eyes were closed.

Seeing an opening she hadn't expected, Leonie propelled herself forward and lunged at him, shoving into him with all of her weight. He grabbed her arms and pulled her with him as he fell back, hitting the wash stand, sending the ewer crashing to the floor.

The blow came out of nowhere and Leonie went reeling across the room, her cheek exploding in exquisite pain. Her vision narrowed, darkened and bright shapes danced in the periphery. She was on her knees again, her breath coming in shallow pants, her pain numbing her brain.

"Still in need of taming, I see," Montran snarled, his face contorting into a mask of rage as he reached again for the whip.

Leonie grit her teeth and straightened her shoulders. She would not willingly submit. Not now, not ever. She braced herself for the piercing hot flick of the whip as it curled around her upper back, once, twice and still she would not bend to it, to him. Her scream never left the confines of her own mind.

"Look at that blood. Dear me. I think you will have to remove your chemise, dear Leonie. I need to tend to those wounds," Montran said, his voice dripping solicitously into the space between them.

Leonie flinched away from his touch as he knelt before her again, tenderly dabbing at the welling blood. He bent down and licked at it. His mind was completely unhinged now, she saw that and with it, her hope of talking her way out.

"I told you, my lovely Leonie, did I not? You would welcome my touch. And here you are, at last."

"I am not here by choice. I do not welcome your touch," she ground out, defiantly tilting her chin higher. "No matter what you do to me, Montran, I will never welcome your touch."

This time the blow was expected and she rolled with it, even as her nose began to flow. White hot pain shot through her nose, straight up to her brain. Some voice inside her urged her to submit, just submit and maybe walk away but she could not bring herself to do it. She lay panting on the dusty floor again, eyes closed against the pain and despair.

"And do you think _Duncan_ will come to your rescue?" he asked, scornful.

Maker's breath, if only that were possible, she thought and a fresh wave of tears fought their way from behind her lids, trickling hotly down her cheeks. She could almost hear Duncan's voice encouraging her to be brave, to be that fierce lion. She could almost feel his hand, reaching out to her and she wondered briefly if her mind was coming unhinged as well.

She growled deep in her chest and pushed herself up again.

"Never," she snarled at him and reached out, raking her nails down his face, digging into the flesh. She could feel his skin under her nails. He grabbed his face, now twisted in agony and howled in fury and pain.

She was on her feet and at the door, pulling on it frantically. But the key was still in his pocket and he was laughing at her now, even as the blood flowed freely from the wounds she had inflicted. His laughter was high and shrill and completely mad. Her heart stopped. How could she fight against a madman who relished pain and longed for death?

"I thought this might happen. I had hoped, of course, that you would not fight too much. A little struggle is good, yes? But too much is just so unnecessary."

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the bed. Her eyes smarted from the pain and she was brought up on the tips of her toes to prevent the hair from being pulled completely out of her scalp. Her fists lashed out at him, ineffectual blows that he ignored.

He flung her down with a grunt. As she fell onto the bed he straddled her, his weight pushing her deeper into the feather mattress, giving her no purchase to attack. Her entire face hurt, waves of pain that seemed unending and dulled her senses.

He was smiling at her again, and the change in his expressions was dizzying. "You are exquisite, Leonie," he whispered and his voice was filled with tenderness and longing. There was some part of Leonie somewhere that pitied him in that instant.

Her eyes slid closed as shock began to take its toll on her. She fought against the lethargy that was pulling at her lids, her limbs.

Still straddling her, he tied her hands above her head and then to the headboard. She kicked at him, catching him once in the side of the head as he moved down to do the same with her legs. He let out a grunt of pain but continued with his task as if she were no more bothersome than a mosquito. He spread her legs wide, tying each to a bedpost. Leonie felt her will slipping away, slithering into the dark corners of her mind.

With a grin, he took out a boot knife and cut her chemise away before climbing back onto her. Her time was ebbing away and Leonie knew if she did not do something soon, she would not do anything at all.

"So is this the boot knife you would like to stab into my shallow little heart?" he mocked in a whisper against her ear.

Without warning, Leonie brought her face up to the tender flesh of his neck, where his blood pulsed and opening her mouth, she bit down on the flesh there as hard as she could. Blood seeped out, hot and thick and tangy with copper. She could almost taste the taint in it, smell it as it dripped over her. The muscles of her neck quivered with the strain but she closed her mind to everything except survival.

His voice was shrill as he grabbed her hair, trying to pull her away but she bit down harder, tenaciously clamping her jaws down, locking them onto her target. She wanted to gag on the viscous fluid and the back of her throat rebelled several times but she would not let go. The more he struggled away from her, the harder she clamped down, the action tearing his skin and exposing more neck to her teeth. She was blinded by the blood now, forcing her mind to ignore the revolting taste and texture of skin and muscle as she bore down, using every bit of her diminishing strength. She could not give in now, although every muscle, every fiber, every thought screamed to do so. Her neck and shoulders were shaking with her effort. She was relentless, stuck in some space between life and death where everything was painted red.

He shoved the knife into her shoulder. The pain was a shocking lance, splintering her vision, her resolve. She she fell back with a sharp hiss, relinquishing her hold on his neck. His blood washed over her, spurting out of him. She gagged again, her stomach roiling. She looked at him through a red curtain, her eyes stinging and burning, her breath painful.

Montran rolled off her, clutching at his neck, his eyes wide. He was on his knees beside her and he looked at her with something she thought was gratitude. A peaceful smile came to his face, his teeth slick and red from his blood. "Thank you," he whispered and collapsed on her.

She knew when he died, his breath a short sigh in her ear. She bucked and twisted and turned, trying to dislodge him but even in death he seemed determined to try and break her. After several moments she gave up trying, her mind churning around bleak thoughts, her breath coming out painfully short, woefully inadequate with his weight upon her. His _dead_ weight and she bit back a sudden giggle that insisted on bubbling up, hysteria seeping into her pores.

She lay there for some time, wondering how soon it would be before she was dead as well. There was a temptation, alone in the room with Montran sprawled atop her, to close her eyes and await her death, to just be done with it. She wasn't sure she had any fight left in her. It was the pain in her shoulder where the boot knife was lodged that kept her grounded. If she could feel pain perhaps there was some hope, somewhere.

With the clarity born of hysteria she saw that her strength and courage did not come from some deep well within her but rather from her fear of disappointing those she loved. And no matter how much she hated disappointing them, she was bound to now.

The candles burned lower, guttering. One by one they went out. She was left alone in the dark with Montran's blood choking her and nobody knew where she was.

She screamed then, over and over until her voice was gone and then she screamed some more, harsh, rasping noises that died out because nobody was there to hear them or save her and she was too tired to try to save herself.

Thoughts turned to Duncan and she could only whisper his name, the apology thick, trapped bitterly in her throat. She never wanted to hurt him, disappoint him. He was all that she had ever wanted and the keening edge of regret was a sharp blade in her heart.

Pieces of her mind seemed to be slipping away in the bloody aftermath and she watched them wink out, wreathed in a miasma of death and despair.

When the dark chasm opened up before her, she saw a distant point of light offering peace and solace. She willingly plunged into the abyss, grateful for the small mercy.


	11. Chapter 11

**In A Dream, Darkly**

_Darkness seeped into every nook, every space around her as she groped her way down the corridor. _

"_Papa! Where are you?" she called out. But the sound was hollow, falling into the impenetrable darkness, echoing off walls she could only feel, not see. _

_A light appeared, far down the corridor and she moved toward it. A tall shape cast shadows against the illumination. Her steps picked up as the light got brighter. _

Stepping onto the docks, Duncan glanced around for Leonie. He felt a stab of disappointment that she wasn't there to greet him. Undoubtedly she had business to attend to. He scanned the crowded dock again, hoping to see her brilliant smile but she wasn't there.

Picking up his pack, he stepped toward the busy street that led to the Grey Warden compound.

"Ho there, Duncan!" a deep baritone called over the din. Duncan turned to find the owner of the voice with a grin.

"Ho there, Bertran! Well met. What brings you to the docks, my friend?"

Bertran, a tall man with a ready smile and an ear for gossip, shouldered his way through the throngs and came up to Duncan, gripping his shoulder. Duncan saw the grimness in his friend's face and felt a twinge of fear. Bertran's ready smile was absent. His face was pale and drawn.

"What is it? What's happened?" Duncan asked quickly. A twinge of fear began to trickle through his veins.

"It's a long story, and not fit for the docks. Come."

Bertran took off at a near run and Duncan had to trot to keep up with him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest. Something had happened to Leonie, he felt it. Bertran had been his eyes and ears in Val Royeaux, trying to keep Leonie and Montran separated, trying to keep her safe. His steps faltered. The trickle of fear became a rushing torrent.

Duncan broke into a run.

As soon as they entered the Grey Warden compound, Duncan grabbed Bertran and spun him around.

"Tell me," he instructed grimly.

Bertran's voice was thick and bleak. "It's Leonie. She – she was taken by Montran," he began.

"What? When? Have you found her?" Duncan cut in and the torrent of fear froze in the pit of his stomach. He was too afraid to ask the most important question. Was she alive? The question lay on his tongue, bitter as bile.

"He took her to a room in the sub basement. I don't know what all he did to her. When we found her, he was dead and she was unconscious. There was blood everywhere. She – she bit him on the neck and he bled to death."

"She's unconscious? But the healers are with her?" Duncan broke in anxiously and began to run towards the infirmary without waiting for an answer.

"Wait, Duncan!" Bertran called but Duncan continued on, propelled by a sudden hope.

She was not in the infirmary which furthered his hope. If she were well enough to be in her rooms, his mind reasoned, then she must be alright. He paused outside her door, catching his breath, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. Another steadying breath and he opened the door.

Sitting upright in a chair facing a large window, she was dressed in a soft woolen dress, her hair braided and falling over her shoulder. He saw angry red lines across her neck, disappearing under the collar of her dress. How well he recognized marks left by a whip, he had enough of them on his own back.

His hands tightened into fists, wishing that Montran was not dead so that he could have the pleasure of killing him. Slowly and painfully.

Marliss sat in a nearby chair, quietly plying a needle to a gown. The maid glanced up when Duncan approached and she set her sewing aside.

"Ser Duncan," she said deferentially, standing and bobbing a brief curtsey.

"Thank the Maker you are well, Leonie," Duncan said, his voice raw with relief.

Leonie did not turn to him, did not stand up and come to him, simply continued to silently stare out the window. A frisson of dread flickered through him as he moved to her. Dropping down on one knee in front of her, he looked into her eyes and saw…nothing. Her expression was blank. Not even a hint of recognition. He reached up and grazed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs but she did not move, did not acknowledge his presence in any way. Did not seem to know he was there.

"Duncan, we need to talk," Bertran panted, coming into the room. Sweat was beading on his brow and sliding down his face.

"Tell me," Duncan said, sitting back on his heels. He reached out again to Leonie, taking her hands. They lay limp and docile in his. He had seen people like this before, people who were so shocked they went blank. He shuddered. Some never came back.

"There was a ball in her honor. She drank more wine than she normally does. She allowed herself to be escorted out by Montran. I was too far away. Too far. Maker take me, I was too far," Bertran began and his voice cracked. Tears joined the sweat as his face crumpled and he began to sob.

Duncan stood up and went to him, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Tell me," he commanded, his voice hard and cold. The fear was now a living creature, writhing in his belly.

"By the time I got out of the ballroom, they were gone. I came up here immediately but she wasn't here so I went to Montran's. Nobody was there either. I went to look for Veralis but it took time to find him. Too much time," Bertran whispered and the grief in his voice was matched by the grief in his eyes as he finally met Duncan's glare.

"Tell me," Duncan again commanded, his grip on Bertran's shoulder tightening further.

"Veralis told me where to find Leonie. He said the taint in Montran had started to manifest itself in madness. Even he was afraid of Montran.

"I grabbed Nellier and we went down to the sub basement. We – she was – we thought she was dead at first. There was so much blood. So much blood," Bertran whispered, his voice breaking again.

"Tell me."

"He hit her several times, broke her nose. He – he whipped her. The healers say he didn't – he didn't," and here, Bertran broke down completely, shoulders heaving with his sobs.

Marliss spoke then, her voice soft and sad. "She was brought to the healers. They tended her wounds but she didn't wake up. One of the mages said that she was lost in dreams, but not in the Fade. She said it was the dark between the Veil and the Fade. She said they can't heal her spirit, that only she can." Marliss paused, sighing.

"She sits here silently each day. We tell her to eat and she does. We tell her to go to sleep and she does. But she is not here. The nights are the worst. She wakes up screaming until she is hoarse and even with a sleeping draught, she does this. The mages do not understand how that is possible," Marliss said quietly.

"She is – she is broken, Ser Duncan," Marliss ended, going to stand by Leonie. "And I think only you can fix her."

Duncan loosened his grip on Bertran's shoulder and blinked several times before speaking. He needed to get beyond this brain deadening shock and do something before Leonie was truly lost. _Why wasn't I here? Why wasn't I here, Maker damn me._

"Bertran, arrange passage on the next ship heading out that has a stop anywhere near Jader. Then get word to Aeric and tell him he is to continue in my stead until further notice."

Turning back to the maid, he ordered, "Marliss, pack her things."

Duncan came and stood behind Leonie, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. He bent and whispered softly, "We're going home, Lion."

* * *

_She was lost._

_Each time she thought she was getting closer to the light, a twist in the corridor sent her in the wrong direction. She sighed, frustrated, rubbing at the ache behind her eyes._

"_Papa! Papa!" she cried and her voice danced and bounced off the stone walls of the corridors. _

_There were times when she could almost hear his voice or another familiar voice that she could not quite place but always too far away for words to be distinguishable. _

_Driven, she continued on, tripping and slipping on the slick stone. And always the light, tantalizingly out of her reach._

Duncan stood on the deck of the ship, his arms wrapped around Leonie, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head. She didn't notice. Nor did she notice the wind, sharp and brisk. But Duncan talked to her, pointing out a familiar landmark as they sailed toward Jader, or a bird that flew by. He whispered against her wind whipped hair, hopeful that somehow he could reach her, give her the guiding hand she needed to come back.

The nights were indeed worse, as Marliss had claimed. He had alerted the captain that she would have nightmares and when he explained that they were both Grey Wardens, the captain understood and said nothing.

Her screams were blood curdling, filled with a pain he couldn't begin to comprehend. Her hands, clawed and bent, seemed to be reaching for something. He would hold her, rock her, give her a sleeping draught and whisper to her as her screams diminished into whimpers before she quieted, sinking back into the dark.

Duncan had never felt so powerless, so completely helpless. No matter what he said, he could not break through the protection she had built around her wounded mind.

He blamed himself. In the quiet between her nightmares, he lay beside her, stroking her brow and silently castigating himself because he had not been there when she needed him the most.

She deserved more. She deserved a husband that would be there every night for her, wake with her every morning. She deserved someone who was not so caught up in duty and a sense of obligation that he couldn't bring himself to wed her and bring her to Ferelden. He owed the Grey Wardens far more than he could ever repay, although holding Leonie as she screamed in terror made him wonder if that was really true anymore.

He never expected to fall in love. After seeing the pain it caused his mother, both physically and mentally, he was determined not to let anyone wield that much power over him. Yet Leonie held his heart and soul in her hands and he could not imagine it any other way now.

His mother died from fever when she was thirty. He blamed his father's abuse and the poverty and the hard hours of work she put in each day. He was twelve when she died. Love wasn't supposed to be pain and despair and death.

When his father, in a drunken rage, whipped Duncan one time too many, he ran from their little hovel in the small port town of Turnstable like the thief he was, never looking back. He was fourteen. A rough and tumble, undisciplined boy with a chip on his shoulder and a skill that would only land him in trouble. He made his way to Orlais, to Val Royeaux where pockets were deep.

Duncan owed the Grey Wardens everything, including his life, his discipline, his desire to give serve for the greater good, his battle skills, all of it, all of what made him the man he was, the man that Leonie loved.

Most of those things he found in Jader, among his fellow Grey Wardens. Experiencing what a loving family could be like tempered a wild young man, gave him a purpose his life had otherwise lacked. While he could attribute some of it to Genevieve, and even some to Fiona, most of it was learned from the Caron family, specifically Leonie Caron.

He never expected to fall in love. But now that he had, he would give his life to preserve that love. She had shown him what love was supposed to be.

Gathering Leonie into his arms, he sat in the tiny cabin of the ship bound for Jader, rocking her, whispering to her, hoping that she could feel how much he loved her and needed her.

* * *

_Darkness pressed in on her, hot and oppressive, stifling her. She wandered the corridors, searching for that fickle light that seemed there one moment and gone the next. She stopped to listen but the silence was so profound she didn't even hear her own heart beating. _

_Something was there. She sensed it and it sent a prickle of fear along her spine, raising the hair on her arms. _

_She stopped again, cocking her head to one side, listening. There! A shuffling sound up ahead. She turned a corner and saw a shadow flicker on the wall, illuminated by a single candle. _

"_Papa?" she asked, her mouth suddenly so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth._

_The man turned to look at her, a man whose face was as pale as snow, a man whose gaping neck wound fountained blood. She turned, screaming, slipping and sliding on the blood that flooded the floor beneath her. _

_His laughter trailed behind her._

Sitting on a blanket, hands folded, Leonie gazed vacantly ahead. Duncan sat next to her, reading aloud from the book he held. For three days he had brought her down to the meadow, beside the creek. It was her favorite spot in the Jader compound. He hoped it would spark some reaction but so far it had not.

Frustrated, he tossed the book aside. "Leonie, you have to come back now. We need you. **I **need you," Duncan whispered and he pulled her onto his lap so that she was facing him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her cool lips. Not even a blink of an eye in acknowledgement.

"Come back now, Lion. You're safe. I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you again," he said more forcefully.

A single tear slid down her cheek, sparkling like a falling diamond as the sun caught it.

"I love you, Leonie. Come back now," he said, giving her a gentle shake. Another tear slid down her cheek.

Duncan pulled her into his chest, his own tears threatening as he held her to him. _She's there. She's coming back. Thank the Maker. _Relief washed through him in waves_._

He picked up the book and began to read aloud again, keeping her pressed against him. Glancing down, he saw that she had fallen asleep. He closed the book and leaned his head back against the tree, letting out a long sigh as he closed his eyes.

* * *

_A glow emanated from the walls, lighting her way as she ran down the twisting corridors. _

_The laughter behind her grew fainter as she ran, the air less dank and stale. But just when she thought she was about to break out into the open, another corridor opened and led her away on another twisting path. _

_She cried in frustration. She was so very tired. Perhaps if she just slept for a bit, the answer to the puzzle would find its way to her. _

"_I love you, Leonie. Come back now."_

_She startled. She knew that voice. It wasn't Papa's. Whose was it? She felt drawn to it, comforted by it and so she propelled herself onward, looking for a way out. _

_The voice meant home._

Duncan bent down, reaching for Leonie's brush. She sat in the chair as docile as she had been earlier. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of her bath. She was lovely with the light of the lamp casting a golden glow over her skin. He leaned down and kissed her brow, whispering, "I love you, Leonie. Come back now," just as he had earlier. No tears this time, but he felt her lean just ever so slightly into his touch. He hoped.

The domestic intimacy of so simple a task as brushing her hair while she sat in her nightdress flooded him with images of a life they might have had, were things different. Rather than making him melancholic, he felt a surge of love for her, for who she was and what they were together. She had not been born for an ordinary life, nor had he. Still, here with her now, braiding her hair in the quiet evening was a picture he would keep in his mind's eye, saved for those nights when he missed her so intensely that he couldn't sleep.

* * *

_An opening ahead! The glow from the walls seemed to be leading her in the_ _right direction and she started off with renewed vigor. _

_She had the impression that some thing, some one, was guiding her now as the illumination from the walls lit a specific path. She found if she stayed on that path, the opening grew larger with each step._

_As she drew closer, she heard a sound behind her and paused, glancing back the way she had come. A familiar darkspawn emissary stood watching her, his lipless smile macabre against his destroyed face. She shivered, drawing her arms tightly around her._

"_Yes, Warden, your time here is done. But we shall meet again," he said softly, his voice a caressing sigh. "Now, continue to follow the glowing walls, they will take you back."_

_She was surprised to feel her face wet with tears. She looked at the emissary again and asked, "How do you know me? Why are you here?"_

"_All answers come in time, Warden. Now you must hurry, before you are lost in the dark forever."_

_Leonie ran, without a backward glance, without a thought, just the need to be __**home**__. _

Duncan stirred and reached out for Leonie. He sat up with a jerk and swung out of bed. She was gone.

He scrambled into his clothes, mind and heart racing. Stumbling out of the room, he went in search of her, his mind full of terrifying scenarios. Every minute that he didn't find her, his fear grew.

She was in the library, sitting at a desk, sketching. Her forehead was furrowed in concentration and she didn't look up or acknowledge him.

For a few pulses of his heart, he thought she had truly lost her mind and that thought sent grief flooding through him, threatening to take his own sanity, so sharp that it rendered him speechless.

"He is evolving," she said finally, holding out the sketch.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **_My thanks to all who are sticking with this story. I promise the next chapter will be a little lighter than the previous ones._

_Also I was told to put a disclaimer in here somewhere…so…Bioware owns all, I am but a dreamer come into their world._

**The Lion Roars**

Riordan and Duncan stood in the courtyard watching Leonie. Identical frowns marred their features. She was in the garden. Again. Every day since she had shown him the sketch of the talking emissary, she had avoided talking about anything serious. For three days she had kept very busy, chatted about inane matters and refused to look anyone in the eyes.

"You have to do something," Ceres said, coming to stand beside them.

"You're the healer," Riordan replied gruffly.

"Her physical wounds _are_ healed, Riordan. You know what I'm speaking of. Look at her and tell me that she is whole," Ceres chided.

"She doesn't talk about it. She _won't_ talk about it. Maker knows I've tried to get her to open up," Duncan growled, spinning away from the two men in frustration.

"Well, try harder, Duncan. Just keep poking her with a stick until she grabs it and beats you over the head with it. That's as likely to work as beating around the bushes with that same stick," Ceres returned with equal frustration.

"He's right, friend. She can't resume her duties in this condition."

The point was not lost on Duncan. He knew as well as Riordan that she wouldn't survive her work or the court intrigue that waited for her back in Val Royeaux. But he didn't relish the thought of 'poking her with a stick.' Not one little bit. Her emotions were volatile in the best of times. And these were not even close to the best of times.

He wasn't sure what to think about her revelation that the talking emissary was evolving. Was it just another darkspawn nightmare or was he communicating with her? Was it a trauma induced hallucination? All he could do was hope that Weisshaupt followed through with his recommendations.

"I know she can't. I hoped she would start talking about Montran on her own," Duncan finally confessed.

She was still lost. While no longer wandering in the dark, she spent her days keeping herself so busy she didn't have time to think, or talk, about her ordeal. He understood what she was trying to do. If she didn't talk about it, she could pretend it hadn't happened. But pretending would never make it so.

"Is she still sleeping with the lamp lit?" Ceres asked.

"Yes, and her sleep is restless."

"And the other thing? Is she still hesitant to…" Ceres asked and trailed off, embarrassed to ask his friend such a personal question, embarrassed as much for Leonie's sake as his.

"Hesitant? Terrified would be a more apt description," Duncan sighed, folding his arms across his chest and once again watching Leonie as she gardened. She hadn't touched him, seemed to barely suffer his touch and at night she curled up so tightly on her side of the bed that he felt obliged to keep his distance. He couldn't blame her, _didn't _blame her, but it was one more indication that she needed to talk.

Gardening was the most obvious sign that she was not herself. She had always avoided gardening. Even as a child when Nila forced her to pick weeds as a punishment, Leonie would find a way to avoid it, talking her friends into doing it for her as she went off to play. Yet every day she went out and weeded, or trimmed, or picked flowers, or pushed the dirt around in a mindless diversion. The garden was slowly beginning to wither under her ministrations.

"I've made her a glowstone. She just has to add a drop of this oil and it should provide plenty of light. Much easier than keeping a lamp lit, especially on her way back to Val Royeaux," Ceres explained, handing Duncan a small runed stone and a vial of oil.

Duncan shook his head. He didn't want her to go back to Val Royeaux because he couldn't be there to protect her. Not that he had protected her to begin with. He rubbed his forehead, finding he was angry again.

"Grab your stick and go beat her," Riordan said with a good natured laugh, slapping his friend on the back.

Duncan raised a brow at that turn of phrase. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck, he made his way to Leonie. It wasn't that he was afraid of Leonie, but rather of what he might have to say to provoke her. And what she would say in return. The relationship between them was precious and fragile, a rare gift he had believed lost to him. Even if he had trouble expressing those things to her, he felt them. She had given him more happiness in the past two years than he had known all of the years prior. Now he had to risk everything in order to bring her back.

Duncan knew himself, knew he could be tough and implacable and brutally honest. But he found it very difficult to be deliberately cruel. He had suffered his father's cruelty far too many years to want to inflict that on someone else.

"Good morning, Lion. How did you sleep last night?"

Duncan hated the nervousness that even a child could hear in his voice. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders again.

Leonie looked up, shading her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I was not sure you were ever going to wake up," she said with a snicker. "Must be your age," she added with a smirk. "I do not think I realized before how old you are."

If anyone had been poking anyone with a stick lately, it was Leonie poking all of them. He shouldn't be surprised or even hurt, but at times her tongue and tone were wicked and her barbs stung. And it was so uncharacteristic of her that he was always a bit stunned to hear those gibes fall from her lips.

He frowned at her, one eyebrow raised. "You think if you insult me enough I'll just go away, do you?" he asked bluntly. He folded his arms and shifted slightly. Like I'm preparing for battle, for Maker's sake, he thought and took a deep breath, relaxing his stance.

He watched as she stood up and dusted her hands off, avoiding his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You sit here every day tending a perfectly groomed garden or talk for hours about the weather and I'm being ridiculous?" he asked dryly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked with a hint of anger, hands on hips. _Good, emotion at last._

"It means that you can pretend to enjoy gardening all you want, but it doesn't change what happened, Leonie. No matter how badly you want it to."

"Don't, please Duncan," she pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. She turned from him, gripping her hands tightly together. "Just please, please go away."

Duncan wanted to gather her up in his arms and soothe her. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and go on with life but she was stuck in a dark room still, for all that she stood before him in the warm sun.

"You've become cruel, Leonie. You lash out at people. If they offer to talk, to help you, you shove them away with some spiteful jab. You're hurting all the people who care about you because you don't want to deal with Montran."

He saw her flinch at his words. He hated this. He hated being the one hurting her. He clenched his fists and continued on, grimly determined.

"You need to get back to Val Royeaux. You have work to do there, important work. But you aren't ready to travel because you are locked away in your own misery. You forget how many others are in pain as well. "

"Stop it!" she suddenly yelled her voice hot and furious, her hands fisted in her skirt. "Just stop it!" _Ah, there. A crack in her veneer. _

He was relentless, even knowing it might cost him the only thing in his life he had ever really wanted.

"You have a duty, Leonie, a duty that can't be forsworn, you know that. Do you believe that if you ignore it long enough that duty will disappear?"

"Duty? Duty?" she cried harshly, as if she couldn't believe he had mentioned the word to her. She turned to him, her face pale, eyes large and luminous with her tears.

He resisted the urge to step away from her or towards her. He wasn't sure in the fleeting moment which he wanted to do. He had never seen her so out of control. The fear coiled in his stomach, fists clenched tighter. No longer cracked, her veneer was crumbling, leaving a vulnerable, hurt woman unmasked.

"Do not dare speak to me of duty! I watch you ride away after each visit, knowing I may not see you again but letting you go because we each have a duty that is greater than ourselves!" she stormed.

"I watch you ride off, leaving me alone! Do you think that Montran would have dared touch me if you had been there?" she snarled, coming to stand in front of him, eyes like those of a wounded animal.

"None of you were there! Not one of my brothers! Where was their duty to protect their own?" she berated, her voice now iced rage.

"I needed you, Duncan! I needed you and you were not there!" she accused, her voice low and harsh as she brought her fists up, pummeling his chest with each word.

It was Duncan's turn to flinch as her words struck home, twisting a knife in his own wound of guilt. Her fists didn't hurt but her words were painful to hear, tearing right through his defenses and cutting into his heart. To his horror, he felt tears prickling at his eyes, eroding his resolve. He clenched his jaws, focusing on Leonie and her pain, pushing away his own. It would do neither of them any good if his veneer crumbled as well.

"I'm sorry Lion," he said quietly. Maker's breath, she would never know how sorry he was.

"No matter how much I want to protect you, I can't always be there and for that I am sorry. But being sorry is not going to help you heal," he continued in a voice that was stronger than he felt.

"You have no idea what I went through. It is well for you and the others to sit back so sanctimoniously and decide what is best for me. But you weren't there and you have no idea what happened!"

Her face was flushed red now and he could see she was trembling with rage.

"You're right, Leonie. We weren't there. So tell us what happened. Tell _me_ what happened. Talk to someone about it."

She came at him again, fists clenched, but she didn't touch him. Her voice was rough and low.

"You wish to know what happened, Duncan? I will tell you. I killed a man. I bit him to death and every time I close my eyes I see it, taste his blood in my mouth, choking me. I hear his laughter and his screams in the middle of the night. I see him die, over and over again, and some part of me is glad I killed him. That same part of me wishes he had suffered more. What kind of animal have I become?"

With that, she turned on her heel and ran. He watched her, even knowing that he would have to follow her and undoubtedly poke some more. He rubbed his forehead, wishing again that there was some other way to reach her. He felt raw, stripped bare and flayed by her words. He took a moment to collect himself, rubbing his forehead again, as if to erase the words now imprinted in his brain.

Duncan knew where she would run to and he made his way to the meadow by the creek, wondering what he would say when he found her and whether she would ever forgive him. Or if he would ever forgive himself for not being there when she needed him.

She was sitting in a heap of misery when he found her, sobs racking her body. The Lion had finally broken and now she could truly begin to heal. He would not have to poke her again. The weight of his relief dropped him down to his knees beside her, but he was reluctant to touch her, afraid she would reject him, and rightfully so. He could only watch helplessly as her sobs shook her.

She groped blindly for him and he caught her up in his arms, pulling her into his lap as he fell back on his heels, so grateful for her touch that his eyes smarted with tears.

"I'm so angry," she cried between hiccups. "I just want to break things and I don't know what to do with it."

Duncan stroked her back, silently waiting for her to continue as her sobs gradually began to subside.

"What do I do with all this anger?" she whispered against his chest.

"Talk about it, Leo. Talk until you can't stand to hear yourself talk about it. And then talk some more," he whispered against her hair.

She was silent, leaning into him and hiccupping through her tears, her breath coming in long shuddering sighs.

"Spar with me. Spar with Riordan if you don't want to spar with me. The physical work of sparring will do you good and the garden can't take much more of your tending," Duncan added with a hint of a relieved smile.

She looked up and gave him a watery grin. "Don't let Mama know. Her poor roses may never recover."

They sat there quietly for long moments. Duncan felt almost numb now, but there was a niggling worry that she would not be able to forgive him.

Leonie looked up at him, her expression contrite. Taking his face in her hands, she leaned in and kissed him lightly. Because she knew him so well she knew his fears, he realized, grateful that he would not have to voice them.

"I am so very sorry, Duncan. Those things I said about you and to you? I did not mean them."

"You have every right to be angry with me, Leo."

"No I don't and don't make me angry all over again by arguing," she said in a weak attempt at humor before continuing, "I don't have a right to be angry with anyone except Montran and perhaps myself for being foolish enough to drink too much wine."

Her tears started again, quietly rolling down her cheeks and dripping soundlessly from her chin to become lost in the fabric of his shirt. "I once told you that whatever hurts you suffered in your past, you would not suffer at my hands. Yet you have," she said softly. "And for that I ask your forgiveness."

Duncan bowed his head, blinking rapidly and when he spoke his voice was husky with emotion. "Forgive me then, Lion. Forgive me for not being there. Forgive me for always being the one to leave."

She reached up again and took his face tenderly into her hands and kissed him. "My love, there is nothing to forgive. You are the reason I found my way back. I heard you calling to me in the dark."

And then, sitting in the lush grass of the meadow, with the creek burbling in the background, she told him what had happened with Montran, her voice unsteady and sometimes inaudible, but gaining strength as she continued on. Duncan listened attentively although there were many times he wanted to rage at what Montran had done. But she was safe and in his arms and his rage would not undo what had happened. So he held her and gave her his strength and thanked the Maker that she was finally healing.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _Something a little more lighthearted after all the angst. _

_My thanks to everyone who has reviewed, alerted and lurked. I appreciate it more than I can express._

**Shenanigans**

The Wardens were all gathered in the dining hall two days after her temper tantrum, as she called it. Freya had prepared a feast consisting of Leonie's favorite foods. Wine and ale were flowing freely, although Leonie chose to drink soft cider. Everyone was in high spirits, celebrating as though they had all survived a monumental battle. Perhaps they had at that, Leonie thought, casting a fond gaze at the assembled men.

"That's a beautiful pendent, Leo. Where did you get it?" Duncan asked suddenly, his manner decidedly casual.

Leonie looked up from her soup, shooting Riordan a glare. He smiled too innocently and shrugged, before returning to his own soup.

"As I suspect you already know, Duncan, Empress Celene gave it to me." _Fine, let them play their game. I shall draw this out for as long as they want_.

"Very nice. What was the occasion?" Duncan queried in an exceedingly nonchalant tone.

"I think perhaps you already know that as well but if you men insist on playing these games, I will tell you. I received it in appreciation."

"Appreciation for what, if I might be so bold as to ask?"

Leonie rolled her eyes and carefully placed her spoon down, pushing her soup away. "Services to the Imperial Court."

"And what services would those be?" he queried, with feigned ignorance.

"Andraste's flaming sword! Riordan has obviously already told you what for, why must you pretend otherwise?" Leonie asked, exasperated. So much for drawing it out, she thought wryly.

"He might have mentioned something, but I would like to hear it from you," Duncan replied with a quiver of laughter in his voice.

Seated to her left, Ceres snickered. She smacked him lightly on his arm, turning her glare on him. "Do not sit there so quietly and unassuming Ceres. I see your hand in this as well."

Ceres choked on his laugh and went back to eating his soup. "I am not sure I understand your meaning, Lion."

"Bah, you are all behaving like little boys."

Duncan chuckled, but persisted. "I'm sorry. I missed where you explained those services of yours?"

Sighing loudly, Leonie went back to her meal.

"Come, Lion, we are all anxious to know what service you provided to Empress Celene," Duncan persevered, ignoring her sigh.

"I exposed a plot to assassinate her."

"That must have involved quite a bit of _leg_ work," he replied barely suppressing a smile.

Her gaze skewered him, just as her fork skewered a piece of meat on her plate. "What does that mean?" But she knew. Apparently everyone in the compound knew she had had her legs kicked out from under her by the would-be assassin.

Riordan, sitting across from her, gave a bark of laughter. She moved her glare in his direction.

"How did you manage to uncover a plot to assassinate her?" Duncan prodded.

With great care and deliberation, Leonie placed her fork down. She picked up her goblet of cider and took a sip before returning it to the table with equal care and deliberation. She hoped it was now apparent that she had no intention of answering.

"I would be _lost_ trying to accomplish such a task," he added and Ceres spit some of his soup across the table as he laughed.

"As would I. I would be _stumbling_ in the dark, trying to figure it out," Riordan agreed. The room rumbled with laughter.

Leonie gave up with an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes. "So you all know. Why have me tell it again?" she asked, raising a brow in Duncan's direction. He smiled, patiently waiting.

"Oh very well. Yes, I was lost. And yes I literally stumbled into the assassin. Are you all quite happy now?" she asked with a wry grin. Laughter greeted her reply.

"And what is this new title I hear Empress Celene bestowed on you?" Duncan asked, stroking his beard. She knew he was hiding a smile behind that hand. She could cheerfully throttle him.

"The Lion of Orlais," she muttered with another roll of her eyes. Honestly, they were all behaving like ten year olds.

"I'm sorry, Leo. I didn't quite hear that?" Duncan asked with a raised brow.

"The. Lion. Of. Orlais," she replied loudly, as if speaking to a deaf man, each word carefully enunciated. She could feel the heat of her blush all the way to her ears.

By now laughter was filling every corner of the dining hall. She reached over and pinched Duncan's thigh as hard as she could, which was to say not very hard as his muscles were well formed and the leather armor he wore protected him. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, looking very happy. It occurred to her that he might be just the littlest bit drunk. In all the years she had known him, she could not recall a time when he had more than a mug of ale or goblet of wine, but now she realized he had refreshed his goblet on several occasions.

"I shall pay you back, you horrible man," she promised.

"Only if you can _find _me," he responded with a deep chuckle. Riordan roared with laughter at that remark and she found it impossible not to join in the laughter.

"To Leonie Caron, Lion of Jader!" Ceres cried, raising his goblet. The Wardens all stood and raised their glass to her. Leonie grinned and took a sip of her cider, thinking how fun it was to watch all the men through sober eyes. Maker knew she wasn't going to be drinking wine any time soon.

"To Leonie Caron, Lion of Orlais!" Riordan toasted. The Wardens all stood and raised their glass to her yet again. She nodded and motioned for them to sit, wondering if her blush had become permanent.

"To Leonie Caron, Lion of Lydes!"

The toasts got sillier and sillier as the meal wore on. Freya came out to see what all the noise was before running back to the safety of the kitchen. She had been around Wardens long enough to know when they were blowing off steam. Her husband, Gerard, came out and cleared the table, but not before he had toasted once or twice.

She stood up, intending to leave as well, to let the men have their fun. Before she could offer her good nights, Duncan snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. His grin was lopsided and his eyes were brimming with laughter. She could not recall a time he had looked so carefree.

"Best not leave without an escort, Leo. Wouldn't want you to get _lost_," he smirked.

Once more Riordan roared with laughter. "I haven't seen Duncan with a woman on his lap since that time in Val Foret. A lively wench as I recall."

Leonie could feel the heat of Duncan's blush and she chuckled. "A lively wench?" she queried with a smirk of her own. She tugged Duncan's beard lightly. "A story I am most anxious to hear."

"Was she the one who was married to the Captain of the Guard?" Ceres asked, and his glee at Duncan's discomfort was plain for all to see.

"One and the same. What was her name? Jendella? No, Maribelle. A buxom lass with a toothsome smile."

"Gentlemen, I'm sure Leonie doesn't really want to hear these old stories," Duncan broke in quickly, but Leonie waved his words away.

"I assure you, Leonie _does_ really want to hear these old stories," she responded with a laugh. "Continue, Riordan and pay no attention to any further outbursts from Duncan."

"He chatted her up, though it took very little chatting as I recall and soon they went upstairs to – uh - chat some more in private." Here Leonie could not help but giggle because Riordan's cheeks looked a bit pink now as well.

"No sooner had they gone upstairs then her husband arrived. We tried to stall him while Ceres went up to warn Duncan but the man obviously knew his wife well, because he brushed right by me," Riordan continued and then paused, swallowing a gulp of wine.

"And?" she prodded, noticing that Duncan was actually squirming as Riordan talked.

Duncan started to say something but Leonie forestalled him with a kiss. "Hush, Duncan, it is not polite to interrupt," she scolded, kissing him again. The men cheered and toasted to "Leonie, Lion of Kisses" which told Leonie just how inebriated they all were. Even Duncan, who was now burying his face in Leonie's shoulder, was unusually relaxed.

Finally Riordan continued.

"Duncan heard the commotion in the hallway and ducked out the window, the captain in pursuit. It was amazing to watch how quickly Duncan scampered along the rooftops in nothing but his boots."

Leonie burst into laughter and was unable to speak for several moments, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked at Duncan who was looking everywhere except at her.

"I may get _lost_ easily, Duncan, but I never _lose_ my clothes," she teased and a fresh wave of laughter gusted through the room.

He looked mortified and merry at the same time and completely adorable, a word she did not normally ascribe to him. She dropped another kiss on his mouth, biting his lower lip and wiggling just a _bit._ He groaned and slid his hand up her back. She could feel him harden even through his leathers.

"Did your Maribelle do this?" she whispered, flicking her tongue along the shell of his ear, eliciting another groan from him.

It was good to see the men all laughing and enjoying themselves. She knew that they had all been worried about her, none more so than Duncan. There was still more healing to do and she knew it but at the moment this was the best medicine she could have asked for, just the loving camaraderie of her Warden family.

She reached behind Duncan and undid the leather strip holding back his hair and while the men continued telling stories, she let her hand trail through his hair, tugging gently.

"I'll keep a watch out for the Captain of the Guard if you want to take your latest wench up to her room," Riordan volunteered and the room erupted with laughter again.

"I am not entirely sure he is sober enough to make the stairs, Riordan," she said with a laugh. The others joined in.

"I am deeply offended by that, Leonie," Duncan said with as much dignity as he could, though his voice was colored by a hint of a slur.

"Riordan, you failed to mention the time you went scampering along the rooftops, my friend," Duncan said, once the laughter had subsided.

"Leonie doesn't want to hear about my escapades, brother. She is more interested in yours."

"Nonsense, Riordan. I am eager to hear of your exploits. Does this involve a buxom lass? Or a lively wench?"

Now Riordan found somewhere else to rest in eyes as Duncan said, "Not buxom, but definitely lively. A minstrel in Montsimmard. She took Riordan up to show him her instruments, or so he claimed."

"And she had a jealous husband as well?"

"Worse, I'm afraid," Duncan said, grinning at Riordan who was looking with exaggerated care at his nails. "Riordan and the barmaid had been seeing each other but she wasn't on duty at the time."

"Oh. Oh dear, Riordan. That was rather short sighted of you," Leonie said with a giggle.

"Yes, she came on duty some time later and when she asked if anyone had seen Riordan that evening, many were happy to tell her where he was," Duncan snickered, his amusement barely contained.

"She grabbed up a carving knife and marched up the stairs, bellowing his name at the top of her lungs. Riordan didn't actually scamper across the rooftops. He came running down the back stairs, wearing –" and here Duncan could no longer contain his laughter.

Leonie looked from him to Riordan, who was still examining his nails so she looked at Ceres. "Please, someone finish the story. Was he in his altogether? Or did he have boots on as well?"

Ceres was chuckling but was able to continue. "Neither. He was wearing a stunning wrapper in a shade of blue that I would call peacock, with his hair in many, many braids."

Leonie's laughter joined that of the rest of the Wardens. She wondered if she would ever be able to look Riordan in the eye again without seeing the image that was now burned into her brain.

Duncan's hand was warm on her back and she leaned into his touch, dropping a soft kiss on him, once again nipping his lower lip. He smelled of wine and soap and leather and laughter. His other hand slid along her thigh and it warmed her even through the cloth of her skirt.

She once again made to stand, with the lull in the conversation, but Duncan's arm tightened around her waist. "Don't move," he hissed quietly and she saw a plea in his eyes. As Leonie realized his predicament, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, stifling another laugh.

"This would be the perfect opportunity to pay you back for all that teasing earlier," she threatened softly when her voice was once again under control.

"You wouldn't," Duncan said but there was more question than statement in his words.

Leonie just grinned and wiggled the tiniest bit. It was his turn to bury his face in the crook of her neck with a low groan. Which did delightful things to her insides.

"Do you remember the twins?" Riordan asked, shooting Duncan a look full of mirth.

"Not the twins, please," Duncan moaned, reaching for his goblet and emptying it rather quickly. At this rate Leonie thought she might have to carry Duncan upstairs.

"Anything but the twins," he whispered to no one in particular.

Leonie looked from Duncan, who was patently looking elsewhere, to Riordan who was grinning a ridiculously wide grin. "I think that perhaps this story might be even more interesting than the Buxom Lass story, yes?" she said, pulling gently on Duncan's hair again.

"Oh, it was a time, I can tell you. You see, he didn't _know_ they were twins," Riordan said with chuckle.

"Oh Duncan," Leonie chided, shaking her head. These stories seemed so unlike the quiet, stoic man she knew but she was enjoying them. These were the parts of Duncan's life she knew little about and hearing the stories helped create a more complete picture of who he really was. But as much as she was enjoying the stories, she knew Duncan was suffering acute embarrassment, even in his inebriated state.

She looked again at Duncan who gave her a grin that was disarming in its boyishness. She leaned in and kissed him again. "Should I take pity on you and let you off the hook?" she asked with a little smile.

"You would have my undying gratitude," he responded in relief.

"Then as I see it, you have two options. Sit through a rather embarrassing story about these twins or take me to bed, even in your current state."

Duncan rose with alacrity, nearly dumping Leonie on the floor in his haste. She caught the table to keep from falling but before she could take a step, Duncan picked her up and flung her over his shoulder like a bag of oats.

"Good night, gentlemen!" she called merrily as Duncan made for the stairs in a surprisingly straight line. Laughter floated after them.

She had never seen anyone divest themselves of their armor as quickly as Duncan did. She hadn't even finished unlacing her shirt when he caught her up in his arms, his mouth firm and hot against hers, wearing nothing but his earring.

He began to help her undress, his hands a bit clumsy but determined. He stopped suddenly as her shift fell away and he gave her a questioning look. She nodded and he pulled her to the bed.

"Are you sure you are ready?" he asked somewhat breathlessly and she answered with a long and passionate kiss.

"More than ready," Leonie assured. And she was. The fear that had kept him at arm's length was gone and she rolled onto him, sitting up and straddling his hips.

"The question is, my love, will a less _buxom_ lass satisfy you?"

A rumble of laughter and it was his turn to wiggle just a bit and she felt how willing he was to find out the answer to that question. "That depends on whether you have a twin or not," he said with a deep chuckle.

Leonie took that as a challenge and proceeded to show him just how well she could do without a twin. Duncan had no complaints.


	14. Chapter 14

**Forgiveness**

On a bright and warm morning, Duncan and Leonie made their way to the practice yard, dressed in light leathers. Duncan was quicker than she was but she had the better sword arm. Several men gathered to watch as they circled around each other, darting in and out, parrying, thrusting, dancing away again. They were both tiring and the sweat was gathering and dripping from them but they continued their sparring, neither willing to concede. Finally, Leonie saw an opening and with an upward flick of her shield and a lunge, she sent him sprawling. Sitting on his chest, she crowed in triumph as Duncan chuckled and the men cheered.

"You do that on purpose, yes?" she asked, leaping up and offering him a hand.

"Do what on purpose?" he asked with a slight grin, taking the proffered hand and pulling her back down. She landed on him with a soft thud and saw by his expression he hadn't expected that as the air whistled out of him.

"Open yourself up for the attack. I think you let me win just so I can straddle your chest, you evil man."

She stood up again and this time Duncan did as well, brushing the dust off his backside.

"He never opens himself up like that when I spar with him," Riordan complained, joining them in the training yard. He folded his arms and glared at Duncan. "Don't you want me to straddle you as well, old man?"

Leonie giggled at that image. "I should have known there was something going on between you two. The longing sighs, those ardent gazes. You are not fooling me."

Duncan made a noise somewhere between a groan of disgust and a long suffering sigh. "If you are both done," he said with a shake of his head.

Leonie smiled but before she could reply, she stopped, cocking her head to one side. "Do you hear that?" she asked, moving toward the gates of the compound.

Horses, riding hard. That never boded well, Leonie thought with a frown. The three of them entered the courtyard as two horsemen came through the gates. She recognized their uniforms as those of the Imperial Messengers. A sigh escaped her. This could only mean it was time for her to return to Val Royeaux.

Duncan caught her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She squeezed back, mustering up a smile.

"Good day, Wardens. We have a message from her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene, for Warden Leonie Caron."

"I am Warden Leonie Caron," she said quietly, taking the letter.

"Please, let our stable master freshen your horses and our kitchens are open to both of you. I will need a few moments to compose a reply, so please make yourselves comfortable," Leonie instructed. The stable boy came and collected the horses with a polite bow and a bit of wide-eyed wonder at the brightly colored uniforms of the Imperial Messengers.

"I am going to my room to read this so the others will not see me cry," she whispered to Duncan. "I do not mind if you see me cry, however," she added, taking his hand in hers again.

Riordan took the two messengers to the kitchens as Leonie and Duncan made their way upstairs. She had known the summons would come sooner or later and she had foolishly hoped it would be later. But she had been in Jader for two weeks and that was longer than she could have asked for.

As she expected, it was written in Celene's own flourishing script, all fulsome phrases, effusive to the point of being satirical. But underneath the words, her concern for Leonie was genuine and Leonie appreciated it.

_My dearest Cousin,_

_I am delighted to hear that you are recovering from that brute's foul attack. I assure you that I had no idea the man was capable of such depravity. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies for sending you off with that creature. I was beside myself when I learned of his infamous assault. _

_I would like nothing more than to allow you to stay in Jader amongst your friends and family but alas, dear Cousin, your expertise is needed here. I am lost without your counsel._

_King Maric is to visit the Grand Imperial Palace in three month's time. We are negotiating a trade pact and further strengthening the peace treaty between our nations. He insists on an agenda prior to his visit. Actually, I believe that is Loghain's desire as he does enjoy controlling things, does he not? _

_I need your advice on approaching the issue of Grey Wardens. With so few allowed in Ferelden it will fall to the Orlesian Wardens to help should, Maker forbid, a Blight ever start. To that end, I ask that you return within the week so that we may add this item to the ever growing agenda. You are welcome to bring that scoundrel Duncan with you, should it be possible, as his input will be invaluable._

_Come back safely, my dear Lion, and we shall talk soon._

_Cousin Celene._

"I rather hoped it would be a letter telling me to stay longer," Leonie remarked, handing the letter to Duncan.

"Those letters don't come by messenger in my experience," Duncan replied dryly.

Leonie sat down at her desk and pulled out vellum and a fresh quill. "There is no sense in dragging this out, I suppose. I shall leave tomorrow morning. I should be able to catch the mail ship to Val Royeaux tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll be accompanying you, Leo."

Leonie looked up at him in surprise. "I know you have been away from Denerim far longer than you would have wanted, Duncan. I do not expect you to travel with me," she said with a slight frown.

"I'll be accompanying you, Leo," he repeated. His face was set and Leonie saw the tension in his shoulders and the thinning of his lips. She recognized his stubborn pose.

Rising from her desk, letter forgotten, she came to him, studying his face. "This is about what I said to you that day, is it not?"

Duncan sighed. "It will be harder for you to go back than you appreciate, Lion. You should have someone with you."

"You did not answer my question, Duncan."

Duncan set Celene's letter on the desk and moved about the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Do you honestly think I can let you just go back there alone, Leo?" he asked quietly.

"Duncan, you will not allow me to blame myself for what happened with Montran, but is that not exactly what you are doing? Blaming yourself?" Leonie asked gently.

"I don't want to have this discussion. I have made my decision," he said and the warning was clear in his voice. _Impossibly stubborn man_.

"I am sure you do not want to have this discussion any more than I wanted to have the discussion you forced on me, my love. But have it we will," Leonie replied firmly.

"There is no point in discussing it," he responded in that rigid way of his that made her teeth ache and her resolve strengthen. He was not the only impossibly stubborn person in the room.

She let out her breath in a heavy sigh. "You are exasperating. You do know this, yes?"

She took his hand and pulled him to the bed, forcibly pushing him down. She sat down beside him and took his hand again, her thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on it.

"Trust me when I tell you I do not wish to prod you like you prodded me, Duncan. Because I do not wish it does not mean I will not do it."

Leonie glanced at Duncan, who was staring at the wall directly across from him, shoulders and expression inflexible. I suspect I know how you felt the other day, she thought wryly.

"I have always known you to be a good man, a fair man. You do what must be done when others would walk away because it is too difficult a task. You are implacable when you believe you are right and I respect that. But I did not realize you were a hypocrite," Leonie said quietly. She leaned against him, trying to take the sting out of her words.

"I do not especially want to see you angry, Duncan. And Maker knows I do not wish to hurt you any more than I already have. I only wish for you to forgive yourself. You told me it was necessary for me to forgive myself in order to heal and yet you will not do the same."

Duncan continued to stare at the wall, but his shoulders were less stiff and he squeezed her hand to let her know he had heard her and that he was not angry.

"Papa once told me that forgiveness is much easier to grant than to accept. It would appear he is correct," Leonie murmured, resting her head against Duncan's shoulder briefly before continuing.

"I love you, Duncan. I know my words hurt you and I want so badly to be able to take them back. I cannot. But I want you to understand that what I said is not a truth, not _the_ truth. It is not what my heart feels. It is what a frightened, angry child said to make the pain stop."

Duncan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But there was truth in the words, Leo. I won't always be there when you need me."

"And I will not always be there for you, my love. That is the nature of our lives. We each chose the path we walk. It is not a path many would choose but it is who _we_ are. Would you truly have it any other way?"

Leonie found she was holding her breath, waiting for him to answer. She had told him once before that if the relationship was too difficult for him he was free to walk away. It occurred to her as the silence stretched, unrelenting, between them that he may have to do so. She would not be able to forgive herself if the relationship gave him more pain than happiness. Minutes ticked by and still he was silent. Leonie steeled herself, could feel all her muscles pull taut against the fear that he would have to walk away.

"I am not the only implacable person in the room, Lion," Duncan finally said, turning to look at her. His eyebrow was arched, his lips no longer drawn in a tight line. She ran a finger along the sensuous curve of his lower lip. He nipped gently at it, a faint smile trying to surface.

"That may be, Duncan, but you are the only person in the room who has dared to take on twins," Leonie teased. Duncan's eyes widened and he gave a chuff of reluctant laughter.

"You aren't going to let me forget that, are you?" he asked, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"But of course I will, Duncan, just as soon as you let me forget that I got lost and stumbled upon an assassin," she retorted with a smile wreathed in relief.

"Now, if you wish to accompany me to Val Royeaux because you can be of help in setting the Grey Warden agenda, I welcome you with open arms. If, however, you wish to accompany me because you have not yet forgiven yourself then I respectfully refuse your company."

"Did I say implacable? I meant obdurate," Duncan said but there was more humor than heat in his words and she offered him a tender smile.

"You and I are birds of a feather, are we not?" she responded, returning to her letter.

"I formally request that I attend the meeting between her Imperial Highness Empress Celene and the Grey Wardens. I do so in the hope of furthering relations with my fellow Grey Wardens of Orlais and reaching a satisfactory agenda for the meeting between Empress Celene of Orlais and King Maric of Ferelden," Duncan said in his most officious manner. He came to stand behind her as she finished writing her message.

"So shall it be, Ser Duncan, so shall it be."

* * *

"Ceres, I wanted to tell you that Papa would be very happy and proud that you are the Commander of Jader. He thought very highly of you," Leonie whispered as she hugged Ceres in farewell.

"Thank you, Lion. I hope so," Ceres said quietly, giving her another squeeze before releasing her.

"And Ceres, if I did not thank you already, I thank you for the glowstone. It helps a great deal."

Ceres nodded with a grin, pleased.

Leonie turned to Riordan with a broad grin.

"Riordan, the next time you come to Val Royeaux, I shall ply you with the best wines and Antivan brandy I can find in the hopes of hearing more of Duncan's exploits from his ill begotten youth," she said, loudly enough to make Duncan groan.

Riordan picked her up and spun her around, as he had done when she was a child, as he did whenever they said their goodbyes. She rested against his chest for a moment, steadying herself. She gave him a fond kiss and stepped back.

"I'll do it for a pint of ale, lass, and a plate of apple tarts."

"Then we have a date, brother."

With a final salute and wave to all of her brothers, she walked to her horse and Duncan lifted her into her saddle. And if his hand lingered a bit too long on her hip as he did so, Leonie did not protest.

"You realize this is the first time we have ever traveled together, yes?"

"That's not entirely true, but it is the first time you'll actually be aware of it," Duncan replied wryly.

"Details, details," Leonie grumbled but softened it with a chuckle.

As they rode out of the gates and toward the city of Jader, Leonie could not help the laughter that bubbled up within her. Her heart felt lighter, her grief and fear peeling away slowly, layer by layer. The day only added to that feeling of lightness. Like so many days in Orlais, the sky was flawlessly blue with a temperate wind that brought the scent of spice and flowers with it, tickling her nose. The horses whickered and neighed as they rode side by side. It was a day made for riding. For freedom. For being in love. Leonie laughed again, the joy in her sparkling like a precious gem.

To her great relief Duncan was more relaxed. He seemed at peace, as if his own struggle with guilt had been waged and he the victor. She glanced at him as they cantered along the dusty road and she caught him smiling at her, could feel his love wrapping around her. Her heart fluttered and swelled. This was a rare, perfect moment where sky and earth and man and woman came together in complete harmony.

A single perfect moment, captured in her heart forever.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **_The next several chapters will contain spoilers for __**The Calling**__. Be forewarned_.

_As always, I thank all of you for reading, alerting, reviewing and giving me the encouragement to keep writing._

* * *

**Divergence**

"What do you think of setting up a supply line in Jader and another in Orzammar? How effective would that be?" Leonie asked, tapping the map.

She was kneeling on the floor of their cabin, a day out of Jader, bent over a large map of Thedas that she had borrowed from the ship's captain. The map was spread before her and she was tracing lines on it with her finger.

"Duncan? What do you think?"

She glanced over her shoulder to find him staring at her with a slightly suggestive grin on his face. She would call it a leer on anyone other than him. "Duncan, you are not paying any attention. We are supposed to be preparing strategies for the agenda," she chided, sitting back on her heels.

"I might be able to pay attention if you were wearing more than just my shirt," he responded dryly and chuckled when she rolled her eyes.

"Maker's breath," she groused as she stood up. "You stand there in trousers that hang strategically low on your hips, shirtless and bootless, hair all tousled, looking impossibly appealing and _you _can't concentrate?"

Duncan preened a bit at that and she bit back a chuckle of her own. Discovering that Duncan had a streak of vanity had been quite a surprise to Leonie, but she found it rather endearing.

"I would be wearing my shirt as well but a certain woman has taken it into custody," Duncan replied reasonably.

Leonie calmly unlaced the shirt in question and pulled it over her head, tossing it to Duncan. "Happy?" she asked, hands on hips, eyebrow arched, now dressed in nothing but the ribbon holding her hair back.

"Never more so," he replied with a smug little smile. He dropped the shirt on the floor of the cabin, moving slowly toward her.

"I thought we were planning strategies?" she said, taking a step back.

"My strategy is to advance," he replied, his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he moved closer to her. "And yours?"

With a giggle, she launched herself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. "Attack, of course," she teased. Her hands moved down his back and her lips moved down his chest as she slowly dropped to her knees. He stilled with a deep throated gasp as her hands slid under his waistband. She untied the laces of his trousers and slid them down his hips and legs. He stepped out of them and tangled his hands in her hair as she took him into her mouth.

"You win," he mumbled with a groan of pleasure.

* * *

"Do you think that King Maric would allow supply depots in Lothering, Goldenvale and possibly Redcliffe?"

Duncan shook his head, thoughtful. "He would but Loghain would never stand for it."

Leonie frowned, glancing again at the map. "Is his hatred so unreasonable then?"

"Unreasonable is a good word for it. His hatred is deep. I doubt anything will ever change it."

Leonie sat back on her heels. She understood hatred, she did not understand blind and willful ignorance. Loghain was putting his nation at risk. How could he not see that? "Does he think all Grey Wardens are Orlesian spies?" she asked finally, still frowning.

"He thinks all Grey Wardens are dangerous and seditious. His hatred has made him paranoid about anyone not of Ferelden blood."

"Then why were the Wardens allowed to return to Ferelden at all? Surely if he is that paranoid he would not have allowed Maric to rescind the decree banning them?"

"Maric was adamant that some be allowed to return after his trip into the Deep Roads with us."

"And I suppose you are not allowed to tell me about this trip? That it is just another one of those countless Grey Warden secrets?"

She glanced at Duncan and saw that he was studying the map with a frown. She reached out and let her fingers smooth the line that furrowed between his sleek dark brows. "Do not look so worried, Duncan. I am not angry with you and I will not torture you for information."

He gave a huff of laughter before replying. "I want to tell you, Leo. I've written to Weisshaupt insisting that there are certain things about that trip you should know."

"This is where you first saw the talking emissary?"

Duncan nodded and another frown furrowed between his brows. "Loghain wasn't with us, but he was furious with Maric afterwards, which has something to do with how few Grey Wardens are allowed into the country as well, I think. Loghain blamed the Grey Wardens for encouraging Maric to lead us into the Deep Roads. He also thought that the Grey Wardens were in collusion with Remille."

"Another secret, I take it? This Remille?" she asked and received a nod.

"Politics never does anyone any good. And for good or evil, the First Warden seems to be more politician than warden."

Duncan shot her a quizzical look.

"If Warden Commanders were allowed to tell the ruling government why Grey Wardens are needed to end a Blight, perhaps these issues in Ferelden would be a thing of the past," Leonie explained. "As it is, he seems to wield all this knowledge to his best advantage and not necessarily for the benefit of the people we are supposed to protect."

"It's also possible that even less Wardens would be allowed in the other countries, if they knew it took only one Grey Warden to kill an Archdemon. Not that it matters. Such secrecy is necessary for a number of reasons, most of which you already know, Leo."

"Knowing is not agreeing with, Duncan. And while I agree with the necessity of withholding information regarding the Joining and the changes to one's body, I do not think withholding information regarding how we kill an Archdemon is a sound practice at all. And so I will tell the First Warden, should I ever get the chance."

Duncan chuckled, low and deep in his chest. "Cheeky woman."

They both bent over the map again. "What is this small town here? It is barely a blot on the map. Or perhaps it is a stain?"

"Honnaleath. I've passed through it but never stopped. Why?"

"It seems another ideal place for a supply depot."

"Ideal or not, unless Maric agrees to these things during his visit, we can't count on having supply depots in Ferelden."

Leonie took a deep breath. Duncan had once been an incorrigible rogue who took great enjoyment in breaking laws. Or so she had been told. Would he consider doing so now? She hated to spoil the easy good humor between them as they worked out an agenda they could live with and that Maric might accept. Still and all, it would not hurt to test the waters, she hoped.

"What if we did not mention the supply depots to King Maric or Teryn Loghain? If we use these small towns like Honnaleath, none will be the wiser, yes?"

Duncan sat back on his heels, eyeing her like she had sprouted an extra head. "You're not serious, Leonie," he reproached in much the manner Leonie had feared. She felt like she was nine years old again, caught taking sweets from a baby.

"By any means necessary, Duncan. You know this. It is your mantra. I think I even hear you whisper it in your sleep," Leonie said and if there was a defensive tone her in her voice, she hoped Duncan didn't hear it.

"Yes, by any means necessary, Leo. But if hidden supply depots are discovered and the Grey Wardens are once again banned from Ferelden, what then? We'll have gained nothing and lost much. I assure you that Teyrn Loghain would view those depots as the beginning of the next Orlesian invasion."

"Then why is Loghain even allowing Maric to travel to Orlais? Surely he would be afraid for Maric's life, yes?"

"Maric may have simply insisted. He can be remarkably stubborn when he gets it into his head to do something. Or he may have made concessions to get Loghain and the Landsmeet to agree. Whatever the reason, it is a big step toward lasting peace and perhaps more Wardens for Ferelden so we need to ensure our agenda is sound and reasonable."

Leonie massaged her temples and then stood up, stretching. "You are right, of course. You have a deeper insight into the machinations of Ferelden politics than I do."

Duncan rose too, coming to stand behind her. She felt his hands kneading the knots out of her shoulders and she rolled her neck, a soft purr of contentment escaping her. She enjoyed the feel of his hands. They were strong and capable yet tender and soothing.

"I suggest we have dinner and then come up with an alternative strategy," Duncan said softly, dropping a kiss on the nape of her neck that sent tingles shooting through her. She leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I am not altogether sure I am hungry. For dinner," Leonie said with a roll of her hips.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Leonie woke in a cold sweat. She could not remember her dream but her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. She silently thanked Ceres for the glowstone and wondered if she would ever be able to sleep in the dark again.

Duncan lay on his back, his face softened in sleep. With his dark hair fanning the pillow and his lips relaxed in a half smile, he looked beautiful in the light from the glowstone and her heart skittered around in her chest. She was thankful that he had decided to come with her, that he loved her enough to do so. She bent down and kissed his brow. He sighed in his sleep and rolled over.

Gathering her breeches and shirt, she tried to dress as quietly as she could. He looked too peaceful to disturb and she could not very well tell him about a dream she did not remember. Taking her cloak off the peg next to the door, she quietly eased into the night.

The worn wooden planks of the ship's deck were cool against her bare feet. A freshening wind stirred her hair, sent her cloak billowing. She breathed deeply as she made her way to the ship's railing. The moon sailed high above, casting enough light to shade everything in an ethereal blue.

Tomorrow they would arrive in Val Royeaux and Leonie finally admitted to herself that she was terrified. Even knowing the terror was irrational and foolish did nothing to lessen its hold on her. She fought the almost overwhelming need to run away. Which was as ridiculous as it was childish. Montran was dead. He could not hurt her anymore. Yet there it was, singing in her brain and thrumming in her blood. He _could not _hurt her anymore and she should be rejoicing but the unreasoning fear was persistently finding a way to undermine her veneer of calm.

Leonie sighed, resting her arms along the railing, listening to the steady lapping of water against the hull. Perhaps she should move her bedding out on deck, it was so calming with the wind caressing her skin and the gentle swish of the water against wood as the ship sailed on. Of course that would raise a few eyebrows among the crew, she thought with a grin. Another sigh escaped and then she leaned her head down on her arms, bent at the waist, just floating along with the ship.

"I know you are there Duncan. I can feel you," Leonie said quietly, after a moment. And she could. His taint called to hers with a gentle prickle in her blood, almost like an itch just under the skin, unlike the darkspawn, whose pull at her blood was both unremitting and hot.

"Nightmares?" he asked, coming to stand beside her. He shivered and she noticed that he was not wearing a shirt, just breeches and bare feet, as if he hadn't wanted to take the time to fully dress. She opened her cloak in invitation and he stepped closer so she could share its warmth with him.

"If only I could remember them, I could deal with them."

They stood silently, watching the moon chase the crest of the waves. Leonie sighed, snuggling into his warmth as they stood wrapped in her cloak, before she continued. "You are always so strong and brave. You always seem so sure of yourself. How do you do it?"

Duncan shook his head, his arm tightening around her waist. "Do you know how I became a Grey Warden, Lion?"

"No, I only know you took your Joining with Riordan."

"I got caught stealing and killed the man who caught me. He was a Grey Warden. I was going to be executed for it. Commander Genevieve asked me to join the Grey Wardens instead." Duncan's voice was soft and steeped in painful memories.

Leonie wanted to console him, to tell him he needn't tell her these things. Instead she just covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently, feeling somehow as though he needed to tell her for his sake as much as for hers.

"I told her no, that I wasn't about to join an order where people thanked you for killing them. She conscripted me and I fought it. I tried to make a run for it, more than once. When she handed me the chalice I nearly threw it in her face but Riordan was there and he gave me a look that was full of disappointment and so did she. I don't know why but I hated seeing that look in their eyes so I took the chalice and drank."

Duncan stopped and looked out at the water for a moment and Leonie squeezed his hand again, trying to offer him some measure of comfort.

"I was cocky and arrogant, angry all the time. I was every bit the scoundrel Empress Celene says I am. I was irresponsible and rash. Some said irredeemable." Duncan stopped and seemed to struggle with his words.

"Believe me, I wasn't strong and brave back then, Leo. I'm not sure I am now. I have the same fear of disappointing people I care about that you do. I suspect most people have that fear. Maybe real strength comes from accepting and admitting that we are all just imperfect, fallible _mortal_ beings."

Tears pooled in her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.

"Maker's mercy, I am so tired of this crying. Montran does not deserve any more of my tears," she whispered, fiercely dashing them away. Yet she knew, deep in her soul, that she was crying for Duncan as well as Montran, and for the grace and strength within Duncan that had allowed him to rise above his past, to leave his bitterness behind him, unlike Montran.

Two men conscripted into the Grey Wardens for killing a man. Two paths divergent.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **_My gratitude to all who continue to follow Leonie and Duncan on their adventures._

* * *

**The Lion Returns**

Duncan's hand was firmly reassuring on her back as they stepped onto the dock in Val Royeaux. Leonie took a long, steadying breath. She could do this, she _would_ do this. The monster was gone. There was no reason to fear Val Royeaux. But somehow, the city had lost some of its color and flavor, its vibrancy, as if tainted by Montran.

Bertran was there, standing a head above most of the others around him. He looked nervous but when Leonie gave him a cheerful smile, his face relaxed into its habitual grin.

"You must tell me everything, Bertie. Who is the new Warden Commander of Orlais? What of Aronne? Has he made it back from Weisshaupt yet? Have the others been following the training schedule? Have there been any darkspawn sightings recently?"

Duncan looked like he was trying very hard to swallow his smile. "Bertie? Please, Lion, if you have a nickname for me, don't tell me."

"I could not possibly tell you what your nickname is in front of others, Duncan. You must ask me later, yes?" she replied with a saucy wink and chuckled when she saw his quick glance at Bertran to see if he had heard. Bertran was studiously looking elsewhere but there was no hiding his knowing smile.

"It's good to have you back, Lion. Things have been far too dull these past few weeks."

"You mean no one has found themselves lost in the past few weeks," she teased and linked her arm through Bertran's. "Now, talk to me, my friend. What have I missed?"

Bertran's ready smile slipped a fraction. "Aronne is back from Weisshaupt. Arrived yesterday with several Weisshaupt Wardens. They aren't very friendly."

"Wardens from Weisshaupt are here? Why?" Duncan broke in, a grimness in his tone that caused Leonie's step to slow slightly. She cast a glance his way. He gave her a tight shouldered shrug and she felt his sudden tension. She would have to ask him later why he was so tense about a few Wardens from Weisshaupt.

"You don't think they would tell me, do you?" Bertran asked with a self-deprecating laugh. "I haven't even seen them."

"And who is the new interim Commander?"

"Didier. Empress Celene has sent her recommendations on to the First Warden so I'm confident he will be appointed the permanent Commander."

"Didier? That's wonderful news!" Leonie exclaimed. She was genuinely glad that Didier, former Commander of the Grey of Val Royeaux would be the new Commander of the Grey of Orlais. He was a strong leader, a sensible man and had an honesty that was hard to find in a country known for its intrigues and bards.

"And who shall take Didier's place as Commander of Val Royeaux?"

"You won't like the news, Lion. I know I didn't," Bertran said solemnly and paused as they entered the compound. She turned to look at him as they stood in the courtyard.

"Oh no, do not tell me it is that swine Veralis."

"Worse," Bertran said glumly. He lowered his head, looking very grave.

Leonie felt her heart lurch. She stared at him, trying to think who could possibly be worse than Veralis. As Montran's second, he should have been eviscerated for his part in her kidnapping. At least he hadn't been promoted, she supposed that was something. She glanced at Duncan, who shrugged but not before she saw a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. She stared at Bertran, who was turning an odd shade of crimson.

"Andraste's grace! It is you, is it not, Bertran?" she exclaimed and threw her arms around him with a squeal of delight.

"Ho, there, Lion. No manhandling the boss," Bertran began with an embarrassed albeit pleased laugh. "And before you ask, yes I have chosen my second."

"Oh now I am curious, Bertie. Who have you selected for the position? Etienne? He is quite clever and well liked. Or perhaps Laurent? He has the tenacity and grit of a true warrior," she asked, mentally running through a long list of eligible candidates.

"You know this person quite well, Lion," Bertran teased with another grin.

"Marcus? It would be an excellent choice and having a mage as a second is a wonderful tweak at the Divine's nose."

"You've missed the mark. Think of someone closer to home."

She shook her head. These were all men she knew quite well. How much closer to home could the new second be unless it was her? She looked at him for confirmation and he gave her another grin and nodded. Leonie drew back from him, astonished. The second was usually a seasoned warrior with at least five years in the field and a year or more in a leadership role. She barely had two years in the field and only months in Val Royeaux. Others would not think she had earned the promotion and she wasn't sure she believed it either.

"Oh Bertie, I am honored of course, but I am not sure I am the one you really need for such a job. Surely you need someone with more experience, yes?"

"Leonie, you have been a Grey Warden your whole life. You are exactly who I need for the job. Etienne is taking over training, unless you have someone else in mind?"

Dazed, Leonie shook her head and continued on to her suite, unaware of the conversations taking place around her. Her thoughts were buzzing around in her head like bees discovering a new source of nectar. She was in need of a quiet place just to sit down and absorb all the news. That Bertran was the new Commander of the Grey of Val Royeaux made perfect sense. That Didier was now the Warden Commander of the Grey of Orlais was an excellent choice that also made perfect sense. That she was the second to Bertran made her knees feel as though they were made of water.

"Congratulations, Lion. It seems an appropriate and well thought out choice." Duncan's voice broke into her chaotic thoughts. He gave her a puzzled look, as if to ask why she doubted it. How could she begin to explain that she felt much too young and unprepared for such a position? He had taken on the role of Commander of the Grey of Ferelden at a younger age and with much less experience. He had built the Ferelden order from nothing and done so without complaint. Or self doubt, she suspected. She couldn't live up to that example, could she create an example of her own?

"I think it is the height of insanity but of course I shall do my best not to disappoint, Bertran. Or should I say Commander Bertran," she corrected with a small nod of respect.

"No! Maker forbid!" Bertran scolded, askance.

As they entered her suite, Leonie found Marliss there, waiting quietly to greet her. Leonie went to her, taking the young elf in her arms with a whispered thanks and hug. Marliss wiped away a tear and greeted her with a warm smile.

"It is good to have you home, Lady Leonie."

"I do not suppose you will consider calling me Leonie even now?" Leonie asked somewhat hopefully.

"My Lady knows that will not happen," Marliss answered with her usual hint of a smile.

Leonie sighed. "I will not push the issue at this time, Marliss, but I shall continue at a later date, rest assured."

"Of course, Lady Leonie. I look forward to it."

Marliss brought a tea tray in as Bertran, Duncan and Leonie sat down to discuss the current news. It seemed that a nobleman had been beheaded for treason while she was away. Lancombe had been the one to hire the assassin that Leonie had caught. She wondered, without letting her mind visualize it, how much torture he had endured to confess to such a crime. Celene was a beautiful, intelligent ruler, but she was as ruthless as any other absolute monarch. One did not cross her and live to tell of the deed, one died painfully and slowly.

"Also, there have been a series of darkspawn raids west of the city, near an entrance to the Deep Roads that we thought we had sealed off. We'll need to seal it off again after we make sure that the darkspawn have retreated."

"I will lead an expedition, Bertran. I believe I know the entrance you mention. Just a bit south of Reval, yes?" Leonie asked and Bertran nodded.

Duncan made a noise of disapproval in his throat but didn't voice it, for which Leonie was grateful. She did not want to have an argument with him within the first few hours of returning home. He could not wrap her in gauze and keep her safe. She was still, for better or worse, a Grey Warden. She appreciated his concern, was touched by it, but she could not let his fear, or even her own, overcome her.

"I have to meet with Empress Celene but as soon as that meeting is concluded, I will attend to this, Bertran. I would like Laurent, Phelan, and Marcus to accompany me, if that is agreeable?"

Again Bertran nodded and then glanced at Duncan, who was frowning at him. "And now, I think I'd better leave. We're having a dinner for the Weisshaupt Wardens in the main dining hall. I 'd like you both to be there."

Leonie walked Bertran to the door and then went out on the balcony where Duncan stood, looking out at the city. She knew that stance by now. He was digging in his heels, preparing for an argument. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning against his shoulder, trying to soften his hard expression.

"Duncan, after you have recovered from a wound, what do you do? Do you get back up and go out and fight, or do you cringe in bed, afraid of shadows lest you are injured yet again?" Leonie asked without preamble.

When he didn't answer, she continued, "I know you want to protect me but you know you cannot while still allowing both of us to do what we must. I love you for your concern, for your need to protect me, my love. But it is not necessary. You must let me fly again, Duncan. And you must do the same. You know this, surely?"

For answer, Duncan pulled her roughly into his arms, his mouth hot and demanding. There was an urgency, almost an anger, in his kiss that left Leonie completely undone. Any thought she had fled in the wake of her need for him.

"Then let's take advantage of the time we have," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bedroom.

Later, holding each other, he dropped a kiss on her brow. "I hate when you're right, Lion," he grumbled.

No more than I do Leonie thought sadly but she smiled up at him and nestled closer.

She was home but that meant Duncan's departure was looming closer and she wasn't entirely sure she would have the willpower to let him go.


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: ****__Slight spoilers for __**The Calling**__ in this chapter**  
Many thanks to all who are reading, reviewing and lurking. You make my smile brighter_.

**A Tainted Past**

Leonie was strapping her ceremonial breastplate into a comfortable position when Duncan's hands covered hers. "Let me, Leo." His breath ruffled her hair and she was tempted to remove the armor and drag him back to bed but he was already dressed in his dark grey leather, his belts and straps snugly in place.

"I have thought more about it, Duncan, and I think your idea of joint training sessions is an excellent one. Do you think Maric will approve? Or more importantly, I suppose, will Loghain?"

"If we keep the numbers small, I think we can get approval from both of them. I want to propose the supply depots first with the training sessions as a back-up. Naturally we'll need a third plan, as unpredictable as Loghain is. Maybe a combination of the two."

"May I just state, for any who are interested, that I find this Loghain Mac Tir an irksome, loathsome man?" Leonie remarked, lowering her arms as the last strap was tightened.

"You may," Duncan replied, dropping his hands and standing back to examine her. "As an Orlesian, I would expect you to find him so."

"I do not find him so as an Orlesian, my love, but as a Grey Warden. He makes my teeth ache."

"Loghain is a man of principles and admirable in many respects. I suspect had you grown up under an occupation you wouldn't be too fond of the occupying nation," Duncan said with the slightest trace of a reprimand in his tone.

Leonie felt duly chastised. "You are right, Duncan. I just wish he would realize that Grey Wardens are not bound by a single nation but by all the nations of men."

Even to her ears that sounded incredibly idealistic. Grey Wardens were only human and as susceptible as any other person to corruption and avarice and power. She had certainly seen evidence of that in Val Royeaux.

Walking the long, shadowed corridors made Leonie break out in a cold sweat and clutch tighter at Duncan's arm. He brought his other hand up and patted her hand reassuringly. "Just breathe, Leo. Just breathe." So she did. She concentrated on keeping her breath even and her pulse steady and before she knew it they were entering the dining hall. She resisted the impulse to sink into the nearest chair and pass out, but only just.

There were one hundred Grey Wardens assigned to Val Royeaux and over two hundred support staff. It felt to Leonie as if they had all brought guests as the room was full to overflowing. Her ears were assaulted by the din of voices and she felt the press of people acutely. Duncan put a protective arm around her waist as he pushed into the crowded room. She leaned into him, buffeted by the throngs of people, many of whom seemed eager to talk with her. She wondered how cowardly she would look if she actually hid behind Duncan.

Etienne, the new training officer, came up to Leonie and smiled. Of average height and build, he was a quiet man, with brooding grey eyes and chestnut hair cropped close, handsome in a polished way and surprisingly adept with battleaxes. He was a berserker, having trained in Orzammar with the Warrior Caste for a season.

"It is good to see you again, Leonie. Congratulations on your new duties," he said, bending low. She smiled and returned the bow.

"It is good to see you as well, Etienne. You are to be congratulated as well, yes? I could not have chosen better."

He smiled again, this time at Duncan. "Well met, Duncan. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Just a quick visit to iron out some details and then back to Ferelden. It's good to see you, Etienne."

Bertran made his way over to them, holding two goblets of wine, one of which he offered to Leonie, who quickly shook her head. "I have lost my taste for wine, I'm afraid," she murmured with a quirk of lips.

"And where are these fabled Weisshaupt Wardens that we should all be in awe of?" Leonie asked, her tone mocking.

"I hope you are not in awe, Warden Leonie. We are as mortal as any other Grey Warden," a deep voice, softly accented, said behind her and she started with a hiss of surprise as a blush began to crawl up her neck.

Turning, she looked up, and then up some more into shocking blue eyes that were full of humor. They were set in a handsome, square jawed face and the smile he was flashing was all white teeth and dimpled cheeks. His hair was the color of finely aged brandy. He looked no more than thirty, broad through the shoulders and slim through the waist.

"I am Tremain, assistant to First Warden Eldrond. It is an honor to meet the famous Lion of Orlais," he said and as she reached out her arm to clasp his in the traditional greeting, he instead took her hand and brought it to his mouth with a formal bow and a quick brush of lips. She felt Duncan bristle a bit at that.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Tremain. Welcome to Val Royeaux," Leonie replied with only a hint of embarrassment. "And I, of course, would prefer that you forget my earlier ill chosen words," she added, her cheeks in full bloom.

"And you are Duncan, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden? It is an honor to meet you as well."

Duncan's bow was perfunctory at best and his greeting was far more formal than Leonie was used to hearing. She linked her arm through Duncan's again and smiled at the group. "I hope you enjoy your visit here, Warden Tremain," she said with a polite smile and eased them away from the group toward a servant carrying a large tray of _hors d'oeuvres._

"I am famished," she whispered to Duncan, letting go of his arm and reaching for a small square of baked cheese and cranberries on a thick slice of bread. "Aren't you?" She turned to him but he was moving away from her, his eyes focused on a small, thin woman, standing beside Bertran. A tiny woman, actually, Leonie noted, with a head of thick dark hair. She was not quite plain but not quite pretty. Until she smiled. The sharp features of her face softened and she seemed to glow as she moved toward Duncan. Leonie could only watch in surprise, hoping her mouth was not agape because her brain certainly was.

"Ah, they have a history," Tremain said with a knowing tone that Leonie did not quite like.

"So it would seem," she replied with a faint frown that she tried to turn into a smile.

Who was she? An elf, obviously, but had Duncan ever mentioned knowing an elf from Weisshaupt? Or anyone from Weisshaupt for that matter. Leonie did not like the jolt of jealousy that hit her stomach. She had never considered herself the jealous type, yet here she was, fighting to maintain a neutral expression when she wanted to scratch the woman's eyes out. What color were those eyes of hers anyway? She couldn't see from here. She did see, through slightly narrowed eyes, as Duncan and the woman finally met and – she blinked. Were they locked in an embrace? She tried counting to twenty and that did nothing to calm her nerves. She tried breathing deeply and that did nothing. Finally she gave up and turned to Tremain, who was looking at her with an imperceptible smile, but nothing overt, which was fortunate for him, Leonie thought crossly.

"How long will you be in Val Royeaux?" she asked, delighted with herself that her voice held no hint of her inner turmoil.

"Only a few days and then we will be heading on to Montsimmard before returning to Weisshaupt."

"You came all this way for such a short visit?" Leonie asked, forgetting to be jealous in her surprise.

"It's always wise to get out and visit our brothers and sisters, Warden Leonie. Don't you agree?" and there was something faintly pointed about his question but Leonie didn't quite understand why as she watched Duncan and _that_ woman walking toward them. She felt herself nearing a state of panic. The warm room, the crowd, her hunger and her surprise seemed to be shredding any calm she had found earlier. And where was all the air in the room?

"You seem distracted," Tremain added with a dimpled smile. _Maker, could the man be any more gorgeous and still be human?_ She doubted it.

"Hungry! I am just hungry," Leonie said, only slightly self-conscious by the small squeak in her voice.

Duncan and _that_ woman had nearly reached them. She could see now that the woman's eyes were a deep brown and that she was near Duncan's age. There were silver strands intermingled with the dark, almost black, strands. She searched for, and found, a welcoming smile as they approached, which she plastered on her face.

"Lion, I want you to meet Warden Fiona. She is an old friend," Duncan said and his voice was warm and completely oblivious, which made Leonie sigh inwardly.

"It is a great pleasure, Warden Fiona. What brings you to Val Royeaux?" Leonie asked and was pleasantly surprised by how cordial her voice was.

"In part we are here to meet you, Warden Leonie."

Well that wasn't what she had expected to hear. At all.

"I cannot imagine I am so important as to warrant a visit from Weisshaupt," Leonie managed, wishing she had _not_ sworn off wine.

"But you are. Especially in light of what Duncan has just told me. You sent another report and sketch to Weisshaupt recently. You're very lucky."

Leonie rubbed her forehead, completely confused and slightly irritated now, wondering why the woman was speaking so cryptically. "I will agree that I am very lucky, in many regards."

The room began to feel entirely too hot and she entirely too pressed upon. The crowd seemed to have sucked all the air out of the room and her breastplate seemed to be crushing her lungs. Duncan came and put his arm around her, concern in his voice as he asked her if she was well. Hardly, she thought grimly but mustered as reassuring a smile as she could.

"I am quite well, Duncan, thank you," she replied, turning back to the elven woman in front of her with the huge dark eyes that seemed to be boring into her.

"I am uncertain why _you_ think I am lucky however," she finally managed to Fiona.

"We should really talk about this later. The dining hall is hardly the place," Fiona replied somewhat coolly.

"Don't be that way, Fiona. She has a right to know since you brought it up," Tremain interjected, watching the tableau with a knowing smile that was too bright for Leonie's liking, but she was grateful enough for his support not to mention it.

Fiona shot Tremain a barely concealed glare before she looked once again at Leonie, who was beginning to feel as though her breastplate was slowly suffocating her. The room was alarmingly tilted and her vision seemed to have narrowed. "Duncan," she whispered, and he caught the edge of panic in her voice. Shocked, she found she was frantically trying to undo the straps of her armor. She had to breathe but she couldn't seem to inflate her lungs. She heard a wheezing, gulping sound and realized it was her.

"Get her some water and step back," Duncan ordered sharply as he gently batted Leonie's hands away and began to loosen the straps.

"Please, Duncan, do not let me faint," Leonie whispered anxiously, leaning against him.

"Deep breaths, Lion. Just keep taking deep breaths," he instructed and she felt the tightness in her chest ease as the last strap loosened.

Humiliated didn't even begin to cover how Leonie felt, seeing the circle of concerned faces gathered around her. Embarrassed, she gratefully let Duncan take her out of the dining hall and into the cool night air. She was gulping breaths in, bent at the waist, sweat running in sticky rivulets down her back and moisture beaded along her forehead.

"Well, that was not mortifying in the least," Leonie finally managed unsteadily.

Duncan began leading her away from the dining hall but she stopped. "I want to find out why they came to see me, Duncan. Just give me a moment, please," Leonie protested softly, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Because you should be dead, yet here you are. We're naturally curious," Fiona said from behind Leonie.

"Oh," Leonie said quietly and with a sigh, sat down rather abruptly on the hard ground.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **_**More spoilers ahead for __**The Calling**__**  
My thanks to all the lurkers and reviewers and those who have put this story on their alerts._

**Deep Secrets**

They gathered in Leonie's quarters. Leonie and Duncan had changed out of their armor and Leonie finally felt able to breathe again. She tried to concentrate on what Fiona was saying but she was finding it difficult. _Extremely _difficult.

It wasn't that Leonie didn't _try_ to believe the mage sitting across from her. It just seemed very unlikely. Wardens dreaming of a talking emissary that could somehow kill the dreamer seemed beyond improbable and fell into the realm of make believe or insanity or…and here Leonie's mind boggled as it groped for an explanation of the inexplicable. She reached over and placed a hand on Duncan's knee, wanting some anchor to keep her tied to the here and now because her world was suddenly so foreign to her. He covered her hand and pressed it gently.

"You knew this as well, Duncan? That there were others who had dreams of this talking emissary and died?" _When had her voice gotten so thin and breathless?_

Duncan cast a withering look at Fiona and shook his head. "I did not. Had I known I would have told you everything, Leo, whether Weisshaupt approved or not."

"Duncan," Fiona began and there was a warning in her voice that was oddly menacing for such a little thing.

"Tell her whatever she wants to know, Fiona. It's no longer your decision, it's mine," Tremain said and his handsome face was as frosty as his voice at that moment.

Fiona looked at Tremain and then Duncan before her dark eyes settled on Leonie. With a deep breath Leonie asked, "I would like to know how these other Wardens died. Is there some symptom I should be looking for?"

"We have no idea if there are symptoms. None were reported."

Leonie waited for more information but Fiona was not forthcoming. Leonie's temper ratcheted up a notch.

"And will I have to drag every piece of information out of you or will you tell me what I should know?" Leonie asked with enough heat in her words to fluster the seemingly unflappable Fiona.

"We had three other Wardens who reported dreams similar to the one you experienced. Each of them died before we could do any further investigations," Fiona said shortly.

"We sent that report and sketch to Weisshaupt over two years ago! Perhaps had you investigated these reports in a more timely manner these Wardens would not be dead!" Leonie burst out, her anger continuing to grow. She sat forward in her chair, one hand clenched into a fist. What she wouldn't give to be able to knock the stuffing out of something right now.

Tremain raised a placating hand and Leonie slowly eased back in her chair. "Perhaps you and I should take a walk, Leonie. I'll explain it to you. I'm sure that Fiona and Duncan have some things they need to discuss."

Leonie wanted to protest. She wanted to dig her heels in and refuse to leave but Duncan and Fiona were nodding and she found herself up and walking before she had even formed a protest in her mind. And it was obvious that she and Fiona were not communicating well. Or at all, Leonie thought in frustration.

Silently, Leonie led him to the palace gardens. Even at night there were people strolling the torch lit paths but she found a secluded walkway. She was confident anything discussed would not be for the ears of others.

"I would ask, Tremain, what it was that killed the other three Wardens. I do not quite believe that a dream can kill a person."

"A mystery, that. Well, their deaths are no mystery, but how it was accomplished and why both remain mysteries. You see, they all had their blood drained."

Leonie stumbled at that but she found a laugh bubbling up and she let it escape. As the laugh sailed into the night she realized it sounded more than a little hysterical. "Now that sounds like a story nannies tell their charges to scare them into obedience, or a story told around the campfire to scare one another," she said with a skeptical shake of her head.

Tremain took her arm and stopped, turning to look down at her. She was sure she would get a crick in her neck if she looked up at him for too long so she found a nicely buffed spot on his armor and looked at it instead. And he needn't see the fear running rampant in her, she was sure.

"It sounds ridiculous and horrific, doesn't it? And yet it happened. Unless the other Wardens are all in on some vast conspiracy, I've no reason to believe their reports aren't true."

"Were their reports similar to mine? Did he call them by name and seem to know them?" she asked but was not sure, once she had asked the question if she really wanted to know the answer. It all seemed like a fantastic tale, not a truth. Yet Tremain and Fiona obviously believed it.

Leonie shivered at the thought. She found a bench and sank onto it, her legs refusing to take her another step until she had some answers. Tremain sat next to her, close without crowding her. She saw the concern in his expression, as well as something else that looked very much like pity.

"He calls himself the Architect. A group of Grey Wardens were in the Deep Roads looking for a rogue Warden when they encountered him, quite some years ago."

Leonie listened as Tremain continued, his words painting a rather surprising picture of a Duncan she had never known, and giving her a better understanding of why Loghain thought the Grey Wardens might be in collusion with First Enchanter Remille and the Orlesians. Then she heard something that caused her brain to stutter.

"Wait! What did you say? There are Wardens who know the location of the Old Gods?" she hissed, mindful that they were in a very public place, though she sorely wanted to shout and scream, appalled by the revelation. Were the Weisshaupt Wardens all imbeciles or just the First Warden?

"Yes, and Bregen was one of them."

"Blessed Andraste. Why would you have field commanders know such a thing? It is not as if we can make our way through the horde to get to the Old Gods. Surely those with the knowledge become walking targets for this Architect or, Maker forbid, some other sentient darkspawn, or their own madness, it seems."

Tremain, not unexpectedly, took exception to her tone of disgust and outrage. "Our decisions are not up for discussion, Leonie. You'll have to accept that what we do, we do for the greater good."

Leonie merely raised a disbelieving brow. "And did this Bregen share his knowledge with the Architect?"

Tremain looked slightly unhappy with the question but he answered it readily enough. "We don't know. He told Fiona and Duncan that he didn't. But he was less than sane at the end from all the accounts I've read and heard. The taint had nearly destroyed him by then."

"So this Architect is still out there somewhere and occasionally he picks a Grey Warden to communicate with and they die? That does not make any sense at all. Furthermore, if he is using their blood for some purpose, I would think he would need more than the amount he has obtained. "

Tremain placed his hand on her arm, saying with a touch of humor, "Welcome to my world. I've been on several Deep Road missions trying to locate him, based on the dreams you and the others have had. We're trying to discover the reason why you and the others were chosen."

"Then why did you wait for nearly three years to come and investigate my report?" she asked hotly.

"I was in the Deep Roads two months after I received the report from Duncan. From what he said, I was in the area you collected your vial of blood in, but we didn't find anything," he replied somewhat stiffly and Leonie saw that she had offended him. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"Why did you not contact me while you were here?"

"To what end? To let you know that you might die?" he asked, shaking his head.

"And yet I have not."

"Yes and that's a bit of a puzzle too, isn't it?" Tremain mused flashing a brief smile

"And now that you are here?"

Tremain's hand was still on her arm and he gave it a gentle pat. "Now we take a blood sample and see if we can find a clue in that. And Fiona hinted that you had another dream about the Architect?"

Leonie told him about her time in the dark and that it was the Architect that had led her back or so she thought. Tremain listened carefully as she described how the emissary's appearance seemed to have altered from the first dream and then he frowned.

"So he is beginning to look more human? Is that what you're implying?"

"I am merely describing how his appearance has changed. As have his language skills."

"That's…disconcerting. We have no more idea where he is now than we ever did yet he seems to be able to find you easily enough. With his ability to travel the Deep Roads with immunity, we aren't likely to find him soon, if at all. "

He continued after a slight pause, as if weighing each word. "Our theory is that he can enter the Fade, that there is some kind of beacon in the blood that he can use to find you in the Fade and it has to be in the darkspawn blood somehow collected for the Joining."

Leonie mulled over that news with a dark scowl. It all seemed too incredibly implausible to be true. "Darkspawn can't enter the fade, I thought."

"Mindless ones, certainly. But you'll agree that this Architect is hardly mindless."

Silence again. She needed to ask the most important questions of all but was afraid of the answers. After another moment, she asked, "How was the blood taken from the bodies? Where were they when they died?" And even though she asked, she still wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"They died in the Deep Roads. Each man went in alone, leaving the rest of his fellow Wardens outside waiting. When they didn't return, the Wardens went looking for them." Tremain paused and moved his hand from her arm to her hand, taking it is his. He hesitated for a minute before continuing.

"They were each missing a hand, just above the wrist. They were just lying there on the ground and all their blood was drained, presumably from the amputation."

Shivering, Leonie tried to block out the grisly image his words conjured in her mind. She glanced down at her own hand, engulfed in Tremain's much larger one.

"A hand? There are other, quicker methods of draining blood, yes? Why cut off the hand?" And why do I want to know, she wondered, fighting the queasy knot in her stomach.

"I didn't understand that either until Fiona told me about the fight between Bregen and Architect. Bregen turned on him near the end, tried to kill him. He managed to cut off the Architect's hand before the Architect escaped. I suppose he cuts off the hand as a symbol? Or vengeance, perhaps?"

Leonie wasn't sure what to say to that piece of gruesome news. After a lengthy pause, she asked, "Did these deaths all take place in the same location? How far apart did they occur?" _Stop asking questions, just stop. You don't want to know, you shouldn't want to know._

"Different locations, we have mapped them out in the hopes of identifying where the Architect is most likely to be. They have occurred over the span of ten years and the last death happened two years before your report. We rather hoped that he had stopped, or was dead."

She was sure Tremain continued to talk, but she didn't hear him. Her mind was still filtering through the information and the grim picture he had painted. And then a new and horrible thought was chasing everything else out of her head. At first she couldn't even find her voice. Her mouth was bone dry now, her brain refusing to even put words to her sudden realization. She wet her lips and found the words.

"He could start a Blight could he not? He could be down there finding an Old God even now," she whispered.

"That's possible, but not likely," he replied quickly and gave her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze.

"You need to work on your acting, Tremain. That was not very convincing," Leonie said weakly, removing her hand from his because her hands were shaking now and she gripped them, silently ordering them to stop their trembling immediately. They did not listen.

"I have just one more question before my head explodes." She paused, looking up into his eyes, wanting to ensure he was telling her the truth. He met her look intently, handsome head cocked to one side, eyes wide and guileless.

"How long – how long after their dreams did these other Wardens die?"

"Within a few months. I think it's safe to assume you are different from them in that regard."

There was a strange sort of relief in that, tempered with dread. "Well that is a great comfort," Leonie remarked acerbically.

Tremain stood up. "I think we'd best get back to Duncan and Fiona. You have a lot of information to sort through and we can talk again tomorrow or when Fiona and I come back from Montsimmard."

"Is your visit to Montsimmard regarding the Architect?" Leonie queried, her mouth dry again. Why did she even want to know?

"No, we haven't had any other reports of these dreams."

They walked back to her quarters and Leonie allowed him to take her arm because she wasn't sure she was steady enough to walk on her own. When they entered, Duncan and Fiona were on the balcony, their conversation barely audible. Leonie caught words like "son" "promised" and "Alistair" which didn't do anything to calm her already frayed nerves. She led Tremain into the kitchen and began to prepare a light meal.

A few minutes later, Duncan came into the kitchen. Leonie looked up and saw how drawn his face was. He didn't look angry as much as sad. He came up behind her and put his arms around her, dropping a light kiss on the crown of her head before resting his cheek there in a rare display of public affection.

Leonie was biding her time but her mind was racing. Who was Alistair? And was he Fiona's son? Fiona and Duncan's son? That seemed unlikely, given the improbability of two Wardens conceiving, but anything was possible. And what promise? And why had she overheard just those snippets? And how could she get rid of her guests so that she and Duncan could talk? Her brain felt ready to shatter into thousands of tiny shards, all with a thousand questions of their own. She sighed wearily and put a hand to her head, which had started to pound dully, as if protesting the sheer volume of questions it was struggling to find answers to.

"It's getting late and I'm sure you're tired, Leonie. Perhaps we can return in the morning and I'll take a vial or two of blood and we can talk more?" Tremain asked, surprisingly perceptive.

"Thank you, Tremain, I appreciate that," Leonie said gratefully. Fiona stood at the door, her face unreadable.

"Good night, Warden Fiona," Leonie said and the woman turned to look at her, a probing look that made Leonie want to squirm but she met and held the look steadily.

"Good night Leonie. I – I am glad we had the chance to meet," Fiona said quietly and Leonie had the impression that was not what she had originally intended to say.

Tremain turned to look at her just before he left. His expression was apologetic. "I am sure you understand that you can't talk to anyone about this, Leonie."

"Of course, Tremain. Grey Warden secrets," she said and did not hide the sarcasm.

Leonie closed the door behind them and then leaned against it, exhausted. Her mind would not latch on to even one thought long enough for her to form a coherent sentence so she went back to the kitchen and finished preparing the meal, the menial task somehow soothing in its familiarity. She glanced at Duncan as she was slicing a loaf of bread. He was staring into the distance, a heavy frown marring his features. There were so many things they needed to talk about but she couldn't bring herself to ask even one of the questions that bounced around in her head. Apparently he couldn't either. They sat at the table and tried to eat, neither speaking.

"I suppose running away is not an option?" she asked after a lengthy silence, appalled to hear how shaky her voice sounded.

Duncan stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with such force it crashed to the floor and then he was pulling her out of her chair and into his arms, crushing her to him. His lips found hers and his kiss was so bruising and searing that it robbed her of thought, leaving her with a raw, all consuming _need._ He lifted her up, pulling her legs around his waist as he pushed up against her, her back hitting the wall. Leonie felt the tickle of his beard as he trailed hot, wet kisses and sharp nips down her neck. Tugging sharply at the leather band until it came loose, she snaked her fingers through his hair,. His hand slid up her skirt, pushing her small clothes aside. With a jolt that was somewhere between pain and pleasure, he thrust inside her and his hands pulled her hips closer, nails biting into the flesh. Her cry was lost in his neck and she bit down, her hands clawing now at his back, nails scraping down his skin. Their rhythm was graceless and frantic, quickly taking them over the edge together in a spiral of shattering light. She heard a long drawn out cry as she climaxed and realized it was hers. She felt scalding tears on her neck and realized they were Duncan's.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **_Thank you all for sticking with this! I had originally planned just four chapters of background on the Orlesian Warden from Awakening and somehow the story took on a life of its own. I blame Duncan for being irresistible._

**The Rising Tide**

Leonie was curled on her side, pulled tightly against Duncan. She could feel his chest rising and falling as he slept, a reassuring cadence that kept her calm enough to remain beside him when what she really wanted was to be up and pacing. Or sparring. Or killing darkspawn.

They had barely made it to the bedroom, stripping down quickly and falling into bed without a word spoken between them, exhausted. Duncan had fallen asleep immediately and had not moved in the hours since, clutching her to him as if somehow he could keep her safe, even in his sleep. Seeing him cry, feeling his tears, had nearly unraveled her own fragile calm. The reality of their lives together and apart had crowded into all the other warring factions in her brain, completely overwhelming her. So, instead of talking, they had just collapsed. She hadn't even had time to light her glowstone and she was sorry for that because the dark was oppressive; she could feel it pressing down on her like heavy wet wool.

_Why me? Why me?_ Her brain just kept repeating those same two words as if by doing so the answer would become obvious. Might as well ask why not me, she thought and once again resisted the urge to move, to do anything that might awaken Duncan. But as each thought slipped into her mind, she was able to examine it more closely before moving on to another. If the Architect had wanted her blood, wanted her death, she would be dead by now. That was a reassuring thought. The one that followed quickly on its heels was not. Was he grooming her, or perhaps waiting for something within her to change? What else would explain why the other three Wardens were dead and she was not? The involuntary shiver that ran along her spine and into her brain shook the bed. She heard Duncan's breathing change and he shifted slightly.

"Leonie?" he whispered, voice thick with sleep, and she could feel his breath, warm on her shoulder.

"I am sorry, my love. Go back to sleep," she murmured, turning in his arms to face him.

"We should probably talk," he said by way of reply. He nestled into her, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. She was quiet, simply letting her fingers run lightly across his shoulders. It wasn't that she didn't have anything to say but rather that she had too much to say. She felt him start to relax and then immediately tense up again.

He pulled away from her, sitting up. "I need to get back to Denerim."

The words hung heavy, storm clouds that thickened the air and made it impossible to breathe for a stretch of time. She immediately wanted to grab him and not let him go, not let him out of her sight. But that part was soon overtaken by her pragmatic side, that part of her that she sometimes hated. That awful, rational part of her brain that knew he was right, and knew why he must leave. Duty, the undeniable mistress of them both. Their dependence on each other was growing with each day they spent together and duty would soon be forgotten.

"You are afraid if you do not leave now you will not be able to bring yourself to leave at all," she said quietly. Understanding it did not make it easier.

The lamp flared and she blinked at the brightness. "When?" she finally asked once it became apparent he wasn't going to volunteer the information.

"Tomorrow, if I can book passage."

"Yes, that is for the best."

Their words were stiff and seemed to fall like chips of stone into the space between them, the _gulf_ between them, Leonie reflected, and she could not understand why it was this way. Communication had not been a problem for them in the past. Why now, when they needed to resolve things? Or perhaps there was nothing to resolve between them, just a need to return to the pattern of their separate lives, those that were most familiar to them.

"Then we should talk first, yes? Tremain and Fiona will be here this morning and the meeting with Empress Celene is this afternoon. If we do not talk now, we may not have the opportunity later."

She finally stood, wincing involuntarily as she did so, and heard Duncan hiss. He had no doubt seen the design of bruises and small crescent shaped marks on her hips that he had left the night before.

"Do not apologize, Duncan. And do not, for the Maker's sake, feel guilty. If I had wanted you to stop, I would have said so. I suspect you have a few marks on you as well."

The strain between them was nearly unbearable but Leonie wasn't sure how to ease it. She turned to look at him. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, staring with unseeing eyes at the floor, as if it magically held all the answers within its wooden planks. She came to him and knelt beside him, running her fingers lightly though his sleep tousled hair.

"Duncan, I am the same person I was yesterday. Are you not also the same person you were yesterday?" she asked softly.

"I didn't know about the others, Leo," he said, his voice muffled by the emotions he was refusing to acknowledge. "It changes everything."

"Even if you had known, how would it have changed anything? Do you think I would not have become a Grey Warden? It changes nothing," she replied vehemently.

Duncan shook his head and leaned into her touch. "I want to believe that," he finally said.

She wanted to shake Duncan out of his somnambulant state. She wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend that everything was perfect. Instead, much to her astonishment, she blurted out, "Who is Alistair? Is he your son?"

His reaction was immediate and not what she expected. He laughed, a short burst of genuine laughter, warm and rich. "Maker, Lion, of course not. He's Fiona's son."

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and looked at her, his eyes clearing of the earlier fog that had shrouded them. This was a question he could answer and it seemed to give him a measure of peace that he could.

"And he has no father?" she probed, trying to keep her relief from her voice and failing miserably.

"His father is King Maric."

Well that was an unanticipated response as well. "And you are his guardian?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"I am going to guess that this is another secret I am not allowed to speak of?"

Duncan gave her a half-smile, nodding. "Not that people won't know the minute they lay eyes on the boy. The older he gets, the more like Maric he looks."

Leonie felt herself returning his smile. She wondered if maybe they were both reaching the point of hysteria that would have them cackling madly soon. Or maybe it was just the relief of having a question, _any_ question, asked and answered. Whatever it was, the tension that had been coiled in her eased, slowly unwinding.

Morning was still hours away and she found her eyelids growing heavy. She fell back across the bed and closed her eyes. Duncan came with her. They scooted up the bed until their heads found their sleep rumpled pillows. Neither spoke, but the gulf had closed, and the silence was no longer painful and he no longer seemed like a stranger. She rolled toward him until her head was resting on his chest. With a whispered "I love you" she fell asleep.

Leonie woke to the sound of splashing and for a moment she was disoriented. Morning has snuck in while she was sleeping. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and looked around as recognition came to her. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, her muscles stiff and sore. Slipping into her wrapper, she followed the sounds of splashing and found Duncan ensconced in the bathtub, looking remarkably fresh and much more himself. Her relief was immediate and brought a smile to her lips.

"Good morning my Rivaini pirate," she greeted lightly, coming to perch on the edge of the tub.

"Good morning, Lion," he replied with a devious smile and before she could move, he pulled her into the bathtub, wrapper and all.

"Wretched man," she spluttered, splashing at him.

Poor Marliss will have a mess to clean up in the bathroom as well as the kitchen, she thought with a wry glance at the water on the floor.

"We need to get dressed before Tremain and Fiona arrive, Duncan," she laughingly protested as he began to untie the sodden sash of her wrapper.

He nodded reluctantly and stood, offering her a hand. She was tempted to yank him back down. The light caught the water wicking off his toned body and she was close enough to …

"Don't even think about it, Leo," Duncan warned, grinning and pulling her up.

"No, of course you are correct, but you are so very tempting," she murmured with a sly grin, rubbing against him. He groaned, turning his head to catch her lips with his and if the kiss the night before had been bruising and hot, this was soft and languid and made her knees melt. She moaned as his tongue searched slowly for hers. For the moment the horrors of yesterday receded and they were just two carefree people who loved each other.

Marliss announcing visitors finally broke them apart. They were both breathless and flushed.

They dressed quickly and Leonie brushed Duncan's hair back, tying it with a thin leather strip before braiding her hair. She straightened the high collar of her dress, hiding the marks from the previous night. Duncan made a low sound of disapproval in his throat and was about to apologize when she dropped a kiss on his cheek.

"No apologies," she reminded him and took his arm as they went to greet Tremain and Fiona.

After breakfast, Tremain opened a leather case that contained a small, extremely sharp looking instrument and two small empty vials. Leonie's heart galloped at the sight and she discovered she had her hands behind her back, which made her laugh self-consciously. "I am never in a rush to spill my blood for any reason," she explained.

When the blood had filled up both vials, Fiona came over and took her hand and with a whispered spell, a blue glow surrounded the wound and it was closed. Leonie flexed her hand and smiled her thanks. The tension between the two women had eased somewhat and Leonie was relieved by that. Learning that Duncan and Fiona had never been lovers had nothing to do it, Leonie told herself. It was, of course, a lie.

As she finished the sketch of the Architect, she shared her thoughts with Fiona, Tremain and Duncan. They all seemed to agree that she was probably right. While there was a certain validation in that, she was still frightened by the thought that a darkspawn, talking or otherwise, was grooming her for something, that he could sneak into her thoughts or dreams whenever he wanted, while she had no such power to seek him out or communicate with him. Was there something inside her lying dormant, waiting for a time to awaken? The thought horrified her and her hands began to tremble. She set her charcoal down and wiped her hands, gripping them tightly. No amount of willpower stopped their trembling.

"What is it Lion?" Duncan asked, concern etched in his face. He took her hands in his. His grip tightened on her hands as if he too thought he could stop their trembling by his will alone.

"Everything. Nothing," she finally replied with a brittle laugh. How could she explain without scaring Duncan into staying with her? He had to go back to Ferelden while they both had the strength to let each other go.

"We're doing everything we can to find him, Leonie. We'll do whatever we can to try and protect you," Tremain said and his voice was warmly reassuring. But really, she thought grimly, what could they do to protect her?

Taking their leave a few minutes later, Fiona turned to her and her look was assessing and not entirely warm, but less cold than it had been. "You know more than I would like about Bregen but I suppose it can't be helped. If Duncan trusts your discretion, I can do no less."

While not a glowing endorsement, it was at least marginally less hostile and Leonie could respect that. Or at least live with it.

"I've spoken with Bertrand. Without going into any detail, I have asked him to assign a cadre of Wardens to ensure you're safety, Leonie," Tremain added and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sure you're not happy about that, but I think it's for the best."

Leonie raised her brow at this. She didn't want a cadre of men, or even one man, assigned as some kind of personal security detail, but she wouldn't argue the point with the three of them. If she lived her life in constant fear, what kind of life would she have? Having people watching over her would be a constant reminder of that. And a constant reminder that there was a _need_ for such a thing.

After they left, Leonie found her way on to the balcony. This was the heart of her home, as Marliss had once said. The normality, the _familiarity_ of the city stretching out before her gave her a measure of peace. Duncan came to stand beside her, not touching her, just _there_, and she took comfort in that as well.

* * *

The meeting with Empress Celene and her advisors was surprisingly low key and quick. As if sensing that Leonie and Duncan were preoccupied, she was less effusive in her greeting than normal, a quick kiss on each cheek and a brief hug for Leonie before she offered Duncan her hand. She too thought the idea of Grey Warden supply depots within Ferelden had merit, but like Duncan she suspected Loghain would not approve. Leonie proposed as an alternative that they have a supply ship docked in the port of Jader, along with additional Grey Wardens permanently assigned to the compound there as well as additional supplies in Orzammar. She and Duncan also briefed her on the joint field training sessions between the Fereldan and Orlesian Grey Wardens to be held in Orlais unless permission was granted for their sessions to be held in Ferelden, which they all doubted. The groups for the sessions would, out of necessity, be small, with no more than a dozen at any given time. They all agreed that those training sessions, if held in Orlais, would not require permission from Maric or Loghain.

An hour later, Leonie and Duncan were ushered out and they were making their way back to Leonie's quarters, walking arm in arm. Leonie chuckled as they entered the living area. "That was amazingly short for a meeting with her Imperial Highness," she said, answering Duncan's quirked brow. "I expected to be there until dinner."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," he responded, sinking into a chair. He looked as worn as she felt, emotionally threadbare.

"You realize that this is the longest we have ever been together, yes?" Leonie asked, coming to sit on the arm of his chair. He pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck and Leonie let her head fall back, exposing more of her neck to his kisses, her breath catching in her throat as he found a sensitive spot. Finally he leaned back and looked at her, his eyes dark and expression serious.

"Promise you won't go into the Deep Roads without at least two others, Lion."

"I promise, Duncan. Now promise me that when you leave here you will concentrate on your duties and not worry about what may or may not happen here. After all the things that have transpired in recent weeks, I believe we are both due for some quiet time, yes?"

"Agreed."

"I know you do not want to hear this, Duncan but I want to thank you. Had you not reached me, I think I would still be alone in the dark," Leonie said and pressed her forehead lightly against his. "You know my heart and mind better than I do at times and for that I am grateful." Eyes closed, they sat in silence and carved into that silence between them were all the emotions they had shared over the past three weeks.

She fell asleep in the late afternoon. Curled up in her chair, feet tucked under her, she put her head down on her arms and drifted off to sleep. With a start, she awoke some hours later, to find the sun slowly sinking and Duncan standing on the balcony. She went out to watch the pink granite of the Grand Cathedral slowly change over to a deep peach. She slipped her arm around his waist.

"It is quite beautiful, is it not?" Leonie asked in a hushed voice, listening to the chanters.

"Yes, quite beautiful," he agreed, looking down at her. She felt the telltale heat of a blush. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. "My lovely Lion," he whispered and led her to the bedroom.

In the morning, she helped him pack the last of his things. The tide was rising and it was time for him to leave. They walked down to the docks, his pack slung over one shoulder, his hand firmly on her back. They had said their goodbyes earlier and she had not cried then, she would not cry now. He deserved better than her tears.

"If you have another dream let me know, Lion," he instructed as they stood at the end of the dock.

Since she had already reassured him twice that she would, she merely tutted at him and followed that with a reassuring smile.

He turned once as he boarded the ship and gave her a warm smile.

She stood on the docks, waving and smiling until the ship was a dot on the horizon before turning away, a shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **_My continued thanks to all those reading, reviewing, lurking and alerting. Your comments are insightful and encouraging.  
__I have company coming and will probably not be able to update much in the coming week or so. Silly people expect me to entertain and feed them._

* * *

**Passages**

Laurent and Marcus decided that she was being too stubborn for her own good and together they trailed her every move when she left the compound. Leonie was ready to murder them. Bertran was not sympathetic.

"If I have to choose whose wrath I'd rather face, it's yours Lion. Your claws are sharper than Duncan's but his dagger is deadly," Bertran had said with a grin and then he'd gone back to the paperwork on his desk.

While she was packing for the trip to Reval and the Deep Roads, Marliss came and asked, "You are not going alone, Lady Leonie?"

"Maker's mercy! Of course I'm not going alone. I can't even walk to the Imperial Palace alone!" Leonie yelled in frustration. She sighed and rubbed her temples with her fingertips, instantly contrite. She touched Marliss on her shoulder, gently squeezing it.

"I'm sorry, Marliss. I am not angry at you. I just find this constant shadowing very unnerving."

And she did. It was a glaring reminder that something may be out there waiting for her. She didn't blame any of them, but this could not go on much longer before she pulled her hair out. It was unfair to the men who spent more time watching her than doing their assigned duties and it was unfair to her.

Saddling Vixen the next morning, she asked Marcus, "If I were a man, would you be so willing to spend all your time watching me?"

"Probably more so. I prefer men, as you know," he teased but when he saw that she was serious, he gave her a somber look.

"Not knowing why I am watching you exactly, I can't say for sure, Lion. But if it's to protect a brother or sister, I'd do it without question. Wouldn't you?" he asked pointedly.

Put that way, Leonie swallowed her complaints. Of course she would. She felt childish now, and small for complaining. "Yes of course, Marcus. Thank you for putting it into perspective," she said with an apologetic smile.

Laurent, Marcus, Teodar and Leonie rode out the western gates and along the narrow road between Val Royeaux and Reval. They did not encounter any other traffic along the way, which was not surprising as the Imperial Highway was not too far to the north, winding from Val Royeaux to Val Foret through the famous vineyards of Orlais, known as _Val Vin Paradisiaque_.** It was purported that the best wine in all of Thedas was produced in the region. The rolling hills and valleys were covered with neat rows of staked grapevines in every direction, a dotting of grey stone manors and long, low wooden buildings that housed the tank farms and cellars smudging the landscape.

Reval, off the beaten path, was a small farming village fallen on hard times, on the edge of the vineyards. There were less than fifty people living there now and most of the buildings were run down and deserted. The people eyed the Wardens warily as they rode through the town. No one spoke to them.

Teodar was on point as the scout of the party and just south of the town, he stopped and dismounted, motioning for them to do the same. "There are tracks here, leading to the west. Darkspawn from the look of it. Ten, maybe."

"Scout a bit ahead, Teodar. If it isn't too far to the entrance, we'll make camp here. We can leave the horses here if we need to," Leonie instructed and watched as Teodar crawled through the gorse and underbrush, following the tracks. Ten wasn't too large a party for the four of them, which was a relief. She looked at Laurent, who was drinking from his waterskin but he stopped and gave her a crooked smile.

"Worried, Lion?" he asked, capping the skin and sliding it into a small pack he wore at his waist.

"Not at all. I have three of the best Wardens in Orlais with me. Why? Are you worried, Laurent?" she teased, strapping her shield to her back.

"With a lovely lioness leading us? I think not," he replied, dropping a small, stately bow.

She grinned, shaking her head. "You have been in Val Royeaux too long. You are all flowery phrases and courtly charm. I think perhaps you should visit Churneau, just to be reminded of real life, yes?"

His eyebrows disappeared into his long chestnut bangs. "I would rather not, if it is all the same to you. I like my bed soft and my women softer. I hear the women in Churneau are almost as hard and tough as Fereldan women," he said with a shudder.

"I think women may be tougher in Ferelden because the climate and the conditions are tougher, but I take your meaning."

"And this is why I prefer men," Marcus chimed in and they all laughed at that.

The horses began to stamp impatiently as they waited for Teodar. It was a cool, sunny day and the wind carried the smell of the sea that was not too far beyond the tree line. Leonie led Vixen to a patch of green grass, patting her gently.

"He is certainly taking his time," she remarked, glancing in the direction Teodar had gone.

"Probably taking a nap," Marcus said with another grin. "He's getting too old for this."

"I heard that, mage," Teodar complained, stepping out of the brush. He dusted his leathers off and then looked at the rest of the party.

"Entrance is two hundred paces west of here. A small opening. Once we clear the darkspawn out we should be able to close it easily enough with a spell or two."

They tied the horses up loosely and Marcus removed his cloak. "Grab the healing supplies, Marcus. And I want everyone to carry water and rations, in the event that we are longer than anticipated," she instructed and they moved out.

Senses heightened, Leonie could not help the feeling that it was good to be back in the field, to feel the constant presence of her comrades, knowing that they would work as a single unit during a battle. It was a relief to be doing something besides training and paperwork. She flexed her shoulders as they started forward, tamping down a sudden flicker of nerves as they neared the entrance to the Deep Roads.

"_They died in the Deep Roads…They were missing a hand, just above the wrist and all their blood was drained, presumably from the amputation."_

Tremain's words echoed hollowly in her head, momentarily pushing aside all other thoughts.

"Lion? Something wrong?" Marcus asked softly. She found him standing beside her, his brows furrowed in concern.

"No, no. Just trying to sense any darkspawn," she lied with a wave of her hand. _My hand. Still there. Nothing to worry about. _

The entrance to the Deep Roads was, as Teodar had said, small. Very small. Leonie removed her light pack and her shield, pushing them beyond the opening before crawling through the gap. The others followed. Marcus did not have to remove any of his gear. He was small and slender, almost waiflike and he slid in with room to spare. Somehow it felt as though she had passed some mental hurdle, being able to get through the narrow passage without dissolving into a puddle of hysterical female.

Eerie orange light seemed to emanate from the walls and Leonie saw that it was a lava tube, reflecting off the stone. Tainted tendrils snaked across the floor and up along the walls, reeking of foul, dark things. They were standing in a small chamber, now deserted, but there were remnants of a campfire on the ground in front of her. Teodar was bending over it, his fingers sifting through the ashes.

"Still warm. I'd say four hours at most, probably less."

"Then let us go and find these creatures quickly, yes? I am not anxious to stay longer than is absolutely necessary," Leonie answered in a voice that was surprisingly strong and firm considering her insides were mostly jelly.

From the chamber they could see the paving stones of the road ahead of them, leading northeast and southwest. Teodar bent and examined the stones before pointing to the southwest.

"_They died in the Deep Roads… They were missing a hand, just above the wrist and all their blood was drained, presumably from the amputation." _

Impatiently, Leonie focused on something other than Tremain's voice rattling around in her brain. She wasn't alone. She had the best of the Orlesian Wardens with her. Nothing could happen to her.

She felt the intense heat in her blood, prickling at her skin and knew there were darkspawn nearby. She slid her shield onto her arm and quietly fastened the straps. She adjusted the dagger at her waist before sliding her sword out of its scabbard. She could feel nine darkspawn but as they drew nearer and the incessant pull got stronger, she realized there were two others, further ahead of them.

"Scouts or emissaries ahead of the main pack," Leonie whispered. Teodar nodded. As the oldest of them, his taint was stronger and he was able to not only sense the darkspawn but at close range even determine what kind they were.

"Emissary in the main pack. The others ahead are probably scouts."

"Marcus, paralyze that emissary as soon as you are able, then freeze it. I will kill him first. Teodar, stay back near Marcus and fire from range, suppressing fire if you have enough arrows. Laurent, let's see how good you are with those new daggers. Stay to the shadows until the last minute," Leonie instructed and all other thoughts fled as she mentally prepared for the battle ahead.

The emissary went down without casting a single spell. She pulled her sword out of its throat and pushed forward. Laurent stepped out of the shadows several paces from her and without a sound, snapped a genlock's neck before melting back into the shadows. She could feel the sizzle of magic that Marcus was directing at the genlock archers, who were writhing on the ground in agony, consumed by flames. That left only two hurlocks and another genlock, along with the two scouts that were making their way back to the group.

"Ogre!" Teodar yelled, his strident voice rising above the sounds of battle.

"Oh joy," Leonie muttered and then felt the stab of pain in the back of her head the heralded the arrival of an ogre and she spun to face it. Ogres always gave her a headache.

"Take out the scouts, Laurent! I'll take the ogre!" Leonie shouted and raised her shield, calling to the ogre. He turned, his massive arms swinging. She ducked and felt only the whoosh of air as his arms missed their intended target. That didn't make him very happy. Smashing into his knee with her shield, she drove her sword in to his beefy thigh. His rage was a deep bellow. The blade sank into muscle and she leaned into him, forcing the blade deeper, twisting it. She withdrew the blade and replanted her feet, slapping at him with her shield. With a deafening roar that spewed spittle and fetid breath, he swatted at her. Leonie brought her shield up too late. The swat sent her reeling away from him, eyes unfocused with pain. Her shield clattered on the stone floor, mangled.

She felt the gentle touch of a rejuvenating spell hit her and then she was charging back in at a dead run, her cry primal. She brought out her dagger as she charged, both blades now raised. She leapt up, keeping her sword arm forward and waiting until it made contact with the ogre's chest before bringing up her dagger and plunging it in as well in a move Duncan had taught her. _"Always go for the heart, Lion. It's the only way to really kill an ogre." _She hung, suspended several feet above the ground, twisting her blades, pushing them in deeper, feet scrambling for purchase. The muscles in her arms were quivering with the strain of holding on and sweat beaded and dripped into her eyes, stinging.

His death knell was deafening and he staggered, trying to dislodge her. She lost her hold as the blood flowing out of his wounds slicked her gauntlets and hilts. She hit the ground shoulder first and rolled, a sharp jolt of pain tearing into her shoulder as it hit the stone. The ground shook when the ogre fell just feet from her.

"Ogre, why did it have to be an ogre," she groaned, standing on wobbly legs. She was happy to see that the others were panting and sweating and alive as well. She stood over the ogre and braced her feet, pulling the blades out with one arm, the other dangling painfully at her side.

"Amazing how you can actually leap in that heavy plate, Lion. If I didn't enjoy men so well, I'd give Duncan a run for his money," Marcus said appreciatively, coming to examine her shoulder.

"As long as you do not give _me_ a run for my money," she replied with a stifled cry as he snapped her shoulder back into place with practiced ease. She was sure she hadn't whimpered, it must have been someone else.

He laughed as he moved off to examine Laurent, who was covered in blood but it appeared none of it was his own. Teodar had taken an arrow in his thigh and another in his upper chest but he was taking a long pull from his waterskin, completely unconcerned.

"Push or pull?" she asked Marcus, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Push," Marcus replied after he had examined the wounds.

"Pull," Teodar said at the same time.

"I will go with the healer's recommendation, Teodar."

Marcus knelt down. "Sleep, brother," he said softly, casting a spell on the wounded man.

Leonie took out her boot knife and trimmed the end of each arrow. Laurent came to hold Teodar down as Leonie, with an unhappy grimace, pushed the arrows, one by one, through. Marcus pulled them as soon as they pierced the skin on the other side. Teodar fretted but didn't awaken.

They sat and rested while Teodar slept and after he was awake they scouted the immediate area for more darkspawn but after finding no signs, decided to head back out.

Leonie was bringing up the rear when she felt it. A mild tug at her blood. Not as sharp as a darkspawn might cause and not the gentle tingle and tickle that a fellow Grey Warden caused. This was deeper and not unpleasant, just different. Before she could examine the sensation further, it was gone. She shrugged and moved on. Imagination is a powerful thing, she thought with a wry quirk of her lips.

* * *

Hands clasped behind her back, Leonie stood on the terrace off her office, watching the training yard. Her desk was piled with paperwork and she had a meeting with Celene's advisors soon but she was lost in thought.

Nearly three months had passed since their first expedition into the Deep Roads. No more darkspawn had attacked Reval and Marcus had been able to seal the entrance with a rock fall. There were still sporadic raids in the area and patrols had become routine along that stretch of road.

Bertran relied on her to keep the correspondence that covered his desk in some semblance of order. He also wanted her to deal with the imperial court. He had no head for politics or the art of persuasion, unless one considered a large stick and loud voice persuasive arts.

Etienne expected her to train every morning. She was usually sparring against him, and he was a formidable opponent. She lost much more frequently than she won. Marcus, Teodar and Laurent continued to dog her steps but she had developed strong bonds with each of them and no longer complained at their presence.

She had received two letters from Tremain detailing their ongoing efforts to locate the Architect, although the letters were woefully lacking in any real information. Which Leonie was learning was typical of Weisshaupt. She heard nothing from Fiona and doubted she would, considering how unfriendly the woman was.

The most surprising and most welcome news came from Duncan. King Maric had read their proposals and while he didn't think he'd be able to convince the nobles that supply depots across Ferelden were necessary, he saw the need for at least one in Denerim and had gifted the Grey Wardens an old warehouse with a concealed room in the back containing a large vault. Duncan was depending on her to convince Maric that the training missions were vital and that another supply depot in the south was equally important, but it was a relief to know they had at least one place to store supplies.

King Maric was due in Orlais within ten days. He had already sailed from Denerim. Leonie was looking forward to meeting Maric the Savior and hoped she would be able to persuade him into allowing at least one, if not two additional depots. She was nervous about the meeting as well, spending some time each day going through notes and working out what she would say to him. It was an honor to be meeting with the man everyone said was charismatic and honest to a fault and she hoped to show that Celene and Didier had chosen wisely when they asked her to present the case of a stronger Grey Warden presence in Ferelden.

"Leonie," Bertran called from the doorway, his voice shaking. Leonie turned, looking at him. He was pale, a vellum clutched in his fist.

"What is it, Bertran?" Leonie asked, fear shaking her own voice. Not Duncan. Don't let something have happened to Duncan, she pleaded to the Maker as she waited for Bertran to speak.

"The king's ship floundered in the Highever Passage during a storm. All those on board are lost. King Maric the Savior is dead."

* * *

_**Valley of Heavenly Wine _


	21. Chapter 21

**Mournful Notes**

Fereldans would no doubt be surprised at how many Orlesians mourned King Maric's sudden and tragic death at sea, but mourn him they did. Vast numbers of weeping citizens took to the streets of Val Royeaux in the days after his death was announced, seeking solace amongst one another. They saw no hypocrisy in this behavior, any more than they saw anything untoward about admiring Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane. Which is not to say soldiers who were at that bloody battle admired him, but the average Orlesian in the street certainly did. And no other nation in Thedas appreciated grand, theatrical gestures like Orlais did. Nothing lent itself more to such a grand theatrical gesture than Maric's death.

To Orlesians, Maric Theirin was a handsome, heroic figure who spoke to their quixotic, romantic souls. They saw Maric the Savior as a young man who had risen above the tragic death of his mother to unite a divided nation and vanquish a mighty foe, thus freeing his people. What could be more romantic and noble than that? He was a living legend and they could appreciate how valiant, how truly glorious his deeds were. They saw this through eyes that were conveniently blind to their own role as the mighty foe, much in the same way they admired the gallantry and bravery of the Chevaliers and ignored the horrendous crimes committed by those same men. It was the act of heroism or chivalry that they found romantic and they simply ignored the inconvenient truths behind such acts. That was the reason that Grey Wardens were treated with such reverence in Orlais. Heroic deeds, regardless of how those deeds were accomplished.

Fights occasionally broke out as those who had lost limbs or loved ones in the war did not appreciate the spectacle of Orlesians mourning the very one responsible for the loss, but those fights were few and far between. After the third day of weeping Orlesians crowding the streets, Leonie avoided leaving the Grey Warden compound.

Her Imperial Highness Empress Celene made a personal appeal to the Divine requesting the Choir of the Grand Cathedral stop the chant for a full day and night. Such a request was unprecedented. Negotiations between the Grand Cathedral and the Grand Imperial Palace continued at a hectic pace until a compromise was reached. They would stop the chant at sunset on the first day of the following week and it would not resume for one hour, at which time they would begin with the Canticle of Trials. Imperial Proclamations declared that day to be a day of national mourning and the criers heralded the news throughout Orlais. The extravagant gesture, the magnificent spectacle would be sure to satisfy even the most romantic of Orlesians. That it further endeared Celene to her people was a happy coincidence, or so she claimed.

Leonie was blessed with a Ferelden mother, which meant she had a strong streak of pragmatism. She was sensible enough to understand how this might affect Duncan and the Ferelden Grey Wardens, so for Leonie, it was a double tragedy. On the one hand, she had greatly admired Maric as a king and on the other, she knew that any further concessions and comprises between Ferelden and the Grey Wardens might have perished along with Maric. She only hoped that Loghain, who no doubt blamed an Orlesian conspiracy for deliberately sinking Maric's ship, would not renege on the one promise they had elicited from the king, that of the warehouse in Denerim now stocked with supplies and equipment. She was also concerned that Loghain would demand the removal of most, if not all, Grey Wardens currently within Ferelden's borders. She could only hope that Prince Cailan, soon to be crowned king, would be strong enough to resist any pressure Loghain exerted in that regard. Only time would tell.

The morning of the national holiday dawned bright and unseasonably warm. Leonie dressed carefully in her ceremonial plate, newly polished for the occasion. Empress Celene wanted a Grey Warden amongst her retinue as she made her carefully staged grand entrance into the Cathedral of the Divine for a special service. Bertran, the traitor, had assigned her to the task.

"Who better than the famous Lion of Orlais?" he had asked with a teasing glint in his eye. She had swatted his arm and rolled her eyes but agreed because he was her superior.

As it turned out, she missed the parade and service. Marliss didn't arrive at her usual time, nor had she arrived by the time Leonie needed to leave. Marliss was always there, arriving every day with an almost military precision. Leonie went down to the servant's apartments and knocked on the door that housed Marliss and her brother Faulon, who was Bertran's man servant but. When nobody answered her knock, Leonie felt the first quiver of alarm.

She knew she should leave for the parade but she found herself in Bertran's office. "Bertie, have you seen Faulon today?"

"Shouldn't you be with Celene right now?" he asked, looking up from his paperwork with a hint of a scowl.

"Marliss did not come to work today and when I went to check on her, she was not in her room. Neither was Faulon. "

Bertie pushed aside his work and stood up, the scowl shifting into a frown. "I don't know if he's there or not, Leo. I came in early to finish up the monthly reports," he said and she heard the edge of concern coloring his voice.

"I will go and check. I would ask that you send Fabian in my stead. He looks much better in the ceremonial armor than I and I need to find Marliss. Something does not feel right about this."

"Wait and I'll go with you," he began but she brushed his offer aside with a wave. Laurent and Teodar were no doubt nearby. _She _was perfectly safe. It was Marliss who might be in need of help.

Leonie went directly to Bertran's quarters but Faulon wasn't there. She stopped several servants she encountered, inquiring after Marliss or Faulon. A young woman, a servant in the dining hall, began to cry the minute Leonie asked her about Marliss. From the redness rimming her eyes, she had been crying for some time.

"Tell me, Astrid. What is it?" Leonie asked and she fought to keep her voice calm because fear was in the shadows, lurking, ready to take control of her.

"I was afraid for her but Faulon said not to worry, he'd take care of it," Astrid began and then pulled her apron over her eyes and began to sob.

"Please, Astrid, tell me and I will help," Leonie urged, patting the young woman's back gently.

"Philippe Maraville has been panting after her for weeks now. I told her to tell you, Lady Leonie, but she said she could handle herself well enough and Faulon would protect her if necessary."

"Philippe Maraville? Is he not one of the Chevaliers in service to Empress Celene?"

"Yes, my lady."

The fear stepped out of the shadows and into the pit of Leonie's stomach. "Go and find Commander Bertran. You know who he is, yes?" At the young woman's nod, Leonie continued. "Tell him what has transpired. Tell him I have gone to find Marliss."

Without waiting to see if Astrid was following her orders, Leonie turned on her heel and left the dining hall, heading out of the Grey Warden compound. Chevaliers in the service of Empress Celene were housed in lavish apartments on the northern edge of the palace grounds. She hadn't gone twenty paces in that direction when she saw a small figure carrying a bundle in his arms. She was running then, her armor creaking in protest.

Marliss looked incredibly small in her brother's arms, even for an elf. And she looked brutalized, bloodied and broken. Anger, white hot, flamed inside her burning away any vestiges of her fear. "Where is that bastard?" she ground out.

Faulon looked at her seemingly without recognition.

"Take her to our infirmary and have someone find Warden Marcus. Do you understand, Faulon?"

He nodded mutely and continued walking toward the Grey Warden compound. Leonie rushed on, propelled by a growing rage. She entered the Chevalier area at a dead run and halted, catching her breath. She would need calm now. She would need her focus.

"Maraville! Come and fight me, if you dare!" she challenged, ignoring the growing number of Chevaliers gathering in the courtyard.

"You," she snarled at the nearest man. "Fetch that pig Maraville and do it quickly," she commanded in a voice that was steel sheathed in ice.

Philippe Maraville was a tall, broad shouldered man with sharp, aristocratic features and a penchant for Antivan brandy. He came out of his quarters, a sneer on his face, sword in hand.

"Well, well. Leonie Caron. Come to play with the men?" he mocked.

"No, Maraville. I have come to challenge you to a duel, unless you are too great a coward to face me."

She unsheathed her sword and stood, testing its balance, waiting for him to make a move. He laughed.

"You would duel a Chevalier over a common slattern? An _elf_? he asked, incredulous at such a notion. But she heard the faintest overtone of alarm in his voice.

"Are you afraid, Maraville? You should be. I am not some helpless woman that you can brutalize," she replied contemptuously and raised her sword. She adjusted her stance, standing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Maraville grinned then, cocky in front of his friends and fellow Chevaliers. He gave her a derisive sniff as he bowed. "As you wish," he replied arrogantly.

"If you think this will end when first blood is drawn, you very much mistake the matter. This duel ends when you are lying dead at my feet," she said coldly, her words a promise. Maraville blanched, but his fellow Chevaliers were crowding around, bets being taken and encouragement being shouted. He had nowhere to escape, even if he had wanted to.

"So be it," he agreed and a cheer arose.

They circled one another, sword arms extended, measuring each other. He was much stronger, with a longer reach but she was agile and quick. It would have to be enough, she thought, narrowing her eyes, waiting for him to make the first move.

He lunged. She feinted, extending and then disengaging, leaving him to spin around, dropping his sword hand slightly. She counter attacked, thrusting tight and high. Their swords clashed in a scream of metal on metal. She pressed him with a _prise de fer_, before he once again danced away. She lunged and he parried. She pressed again, bringing her sword along the inside edge of his, flicking his shoulder before he countered, whipping his sword up and thrusting. She parried. Sweat was dripping down her face, her muscles taut and straining. She saw that he was also sweating. His breath was coming in short gasps. She watched for an opening, knowing that she could outlast him if she could avoid his thrusts.

Men were cheering and encouraging, some even for her, she realized as she circled him, sword arm bent slightly at the elbow. He was once again lunging. Seconds turned into minutes that felt more like hours. Her adrenaline and her fury kept her focused, but her breathing was becoming as labored as his. She would have to finish this soon or he would overwhelm her with his superior strength and reach.

She parried his next move and with a feint, came in close enough to nick his cheek before he was counterattacking and she felt the sting of his sword point high on her neck close to her ear. She could feel a slow trickle of blood mixing with the sweat, slithering down her neck and then under her armor. She pulled away quickly and then brought her sword up, lunging into the move with a quick double thrust that confused Maraville, leaving him open. She did not hesitate. With a swift snap of her wrist, she plunged the tip of her sword into the hollow of his throat and let her momentum push her sword through the flesh to come out on the other side. His eyes widened briefly and he twitched as blood began to bubble out of his mouth. She brought up her foot, resting it on his thigh and pushed him away, freeing her sword.

Silence. Not a sound from the gathered Chevaliers. She held her sword loosely and turned away, without a moment's remorse. No doubt there would be repercussions for his death but Leonie didn't care at that moment. She did not consider his death an act of vengeance, she saw it as a matter of justice and she would face whatever punishment Didier or Celene mandated.

Marcus was bent over Marliss when Leonie entered the infirmary. Laurent was there and he let out a sharp cry when he saw her. No doubt she was a mess. Her face was red from exertion, she was sweaty, her hair plastered to her like a second skin, blood oozing from her neck where Maraville's sword had found its mark. She pushed his concern away and sank down next to Faulon, who was holding his sister's hand, his face twisted with sorrow.

She looked up at Marcus and saw from his expression that Marliss was beyond even his healing powers.

"All I can do is ease her pain until she passes," he whispered somberly.

They sat quietly for some hours. Finally Faulon said tenderly, "Go, Marliss. Go beyond the pain."

Leonie felt tears begin to slide down her cheeks, hot and stinging and futile. As the sweet notes of the Canticle of Trials began to rise from the Cathedral of the Divine, Marliss died.

For the first time in her life, Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, was ashamed of being Orlesian.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **_Once again, my thanks to all who are reading, reviewing and alerting. It makes my day so much brighter.  
Now, back to my company before they get the idea they aren't welcome. _

**Ripples**

Bertran was the first to find and reprimand Leonie. She was in her quarters cleaning up from the duel. His face was drawn into a fierce scowl when she opened the door. When she saw who it was, she waved him inside without a greeting.

"Leonie, you realize that we kill darkspawn and not men, don't you?" he began without preamble. It was not difficult to see and hear the disappointment in him. She sighed wearily. She would have preferred this wait until after a good night's sleep but she wasn't sure when she would have one of those again.

"Yes, Bertran. I also realize that a young innocent was killed by a depraved animal who thought he had every right to take women and brutalize them. How could I let her death go unpunished?" Leonie asked and tears slipped, unbidden, from her eyes, tracking quietly down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. She had failed Marliss. And now she realized that she had failed Bertran as well. And probably the Grey Wardens.

Bertran sank into a chair and shook his head. "We are not judges, Lion. We conscript, we don't kill."

"Conscript? That pig? Are you insane?" she shouted, the tears drying up from the heat of her anger. "I would as lief conscript a hurlock."

"There are a few former Chevaliers in service to the Wardens. Those that actually survive the joining learn very quickly what true honor is. Maraville was not given such an opportunity."

Leonie paced the room, arms folded across her chest. He was right and she hated that. It only served to highlight just how miserably she had failed.

"I do not mean to disappoint you, Bertie. You know this, yes?" she finally said coming to stand before him. "I will accept any punishment you deem necessary."

"I just want your word that you won't go do anything this rash again. Besides killing a man and bringing public scrutiny to our Order, _you_ could just as easily have been killed. Duncan would have my head for that."

"Marliss was a kind and gentle person, Bertie. If you had seen her…" Leonie's voice trailed off as tears pooled again.

"How much of that rage was for Maraville and how much of it was for Montran?" he asked quietly.

His question was a punch to the stomach. Her air whooshed out of her and she found a straight backed chair to sink into. How much _was_ directed at Montran? Could she even determine that? Had she murdered Maraville because she was still so bitter about Montran? The thought horrified her. She did not want to believe herself capable of such a thing, but she couldn't dismiss the possibility. Her sense of failure continued to grow, crawling around under her skin like ants.

Bertran reached over and awkwardly patted her arm. "You need to understand that each action is like a pebble thrown into a pond, causing ripples, Lion. Some are small ripples, easily overlooked by the casual observer. But larger ones have repercussions that can't be overlooked so easily."

Leonie nodded, sniffling as her tears came again. "I understand, Bertie. Would you like me to resign as your second? Or leave the Order?" she finally asked, her voice quivering on the last question. She couldn't imagine _not_ being a Warden but she had no desire to bring dishonor to them either.

"Now who is the insane one? Did I even hint that I wanted either of those things?" he chided gruffly.

Leonie left her chair to pace once again, wringing her hands. "I cannot tell you with any degree of certainty that I killed Maraville for his actions alone, Bertie."

"Is that why you're not letting Marcus heal that wound on your neck? Punishment? Because I know you aren't one of those who displays dueling scars as a badge of honor."

Leonie reached up and touched the bandage on her neck. "It is healing," she protested.

"Lion," he warned, coming to stand near her. "You can't fool a fool. Now why haven't you let Marcus heal that?"

Leonie gave an unhappy laugh. "Duncan once told me that Val Royeaux was lovely but lethal. He was right, of course, but I lowered my guard, allowed Marliss to die because of it. This will remind me not to do so again, I think."

Bertran shook his head slowly. "You couldn't have protected her, Leo. Let Marcus heal your cut."

But Leonie was adamant and Bertran knew her well enough to know she had dug in her heels and would not seek out Marcus. With a sigh, he stood up.

"You need to interview for a new servant, Leonie. Tomorrow."

"I want Astrid, from the dining hall," Leonie said quickly, surprising them both, but once she had said it, she realized she meant it.

"Done. I'll send word immediately. Now get some rest. I suspect you'll be paying visits to several people in the next few days."

Bertran's words were prophetic. Didier sent word later that evening that she was to report to him first thing in the morning. She wondered when the _Chevalier Dirigeant_ would send for her. That was a meeting she would rather not have. As the leader of the Chevalier's his word carried a great deal of weight with her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene. At that thought, she groaned. Celene would no doubt have several choice words for her as well.

Astrid was not used to helping someone into their armor but she was willing to learn and Leonie was willing to help her learn. Astrid was not an elf, she came from one of the tenements in the poorer section of Val Royeaux, an area ignored by many. Tall and willowy, she had a plain but kind face and an eagerness to better herself. Leonie knew she would never take the place of Marliss, but she was a good woman and Leonie liked her.

"The servants are all talking about you, Lady Leonie. They're ever so proud of you."

"There is nothing to be proud of, Astrid. What I did was not entirely honorable. While I am glad that he is dead, I did not act as a Warden ought to act."

Astrid flushed. "Yes, Lady Leonie."

When she was finally strapped into her armor, she gathered her sword and dagger and picked her way through the maze of corridors to Didier's office. She tapped lightly and then more firmly, lest he think she was afraid. Which she was, but it wouldn't do any good to let him know it.

"Come in!" Didier barked.

Leonie flinched. His bark was _not_ worse than his bite, so it was rumored. That much bark could only meant that she was going to be more than scolded.

"Warden Leonie Caron is reporting as ordered, Warden Commander Didier," she said formally and bowed.

Didier looked up from his desk, his face set in grim, stern lines. With an inward groan, Leonie held her stiff posture. Her shoulders wanted to slump. She wanted to slink away. Stubbornly, she refused, standing ramrod straight, waiting for him to speak.

"You do know that DeMolay has every right to have you thrown into prison? Or, Maker forbid, publicly flogged?"

She felt the color drain from her face. "Has the _Chevalier Dirigeant_ requested a meeting to discuss that?" she asked, her voice as thin and dry as parchment.

"Not yet. I have sent word to her Imperial Highness requesting that we be afforded the opportunity to discipline our own. She has yet to respond."

Didier looked down at his desk and sighed. "You are hereby sentenced to one year as court attaché. Additionally, one gold sovereign will be deducted from your monthly stipend for one year. All other duties save those of your weekly patrols in and around Reval are revoked or suspended until such time as your sentence is completed."

Stunned, Leonie lowered her eyes. That was hardly the punishment she had expected. In fact, she reflected, trying to hide her relieved smile, it was no punishment at all since she was already the unofficial court attaché.

"Thank you, Warden Commander. I will abide by your will," she finally managed in as formal a voice as she could muster, which was not much of one since her smile was evident in her tone.

"That is all, Warden Leonie. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Warden Commander."

She turned on her heel and stepped toward the door, relief so strong she wanted to shout with joy.

"One moment, Warden Leonie. There is one more thing."

"Yes ser?" she asked, spinning around smartly.

Didier was smiling, his face softened from its earlier grimness by the warmth in his eyes. "Well done."

She blinked. "I - I beg your pardon?"

"You only did what many of us would have done under those circumstances. It may not have been your most brilliant move, but it was not an _entirely _bad move."

Well that was unexpected, she thought, returning Didier's smile with a grin that nearly split her face. "Thank you, Warden Commander Didier."

"Yes, well, back to work then, Lion," he said, returning to his paperwork.

The following morning found her at court, in a private audience with Empress Celene.

"You realize that we have very specific laws regarding dueling, cousin."

Empress Celene paced the room, her silk skirts swishing softly as she moved. She was agitated. Her usual warmth was replaced by a cool, regal expression of disappointment. Leonie sighed. Was there anyone who was _not_ disappointed with her? She doubted it. Nor could she blame them. The more she reflected on her impetuous action, the more disappointed in herself she became.

"Yes, Empress Celene."

"I wish you to recite those rules, cousin," Empress Celene requested coolly.

"A duel can only commence once a Second for each combatant is present, as well as a Healer. A duel may not be called until such time as both parties agree a matter of honor cannot be decided in any other manner. No duel is to be fought without these rules being acknowledged in writing by said parties. A duel to the death is only to be determined through mutual agreement between both parties."

"Yet you chose to ignore all of those rules and kill a Chevalier. Most remarkable and quite unlike you," Celene remarked pensively.

"And do not call me Empress Celene when we are alone, cousin, even if I am scolding you," Celene continued, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Leonie.

"Yes, Cousin Celene."

"DeMolay wants a public flogging. He wants to see the famous Lion of Orlais brought down a peg or two. Part of that is jealousy because he does not have my ear at court as you do. Part of that desire also comes from the natural animosity between the Wardens and the Chevaliers."

Leonie's face paled at that. She would rather spend a year in prison than be publicly flogged. The humiliation would be as painful as the actual flogging. She shuddered as the memory of Montran's whip snaking around her shoulders came to her. Her stomach lurched and for a wild moment she thought she might be sick.

"Oh do not look so frightened, dear cousin. I am angry with you but not so angry that I would allow either of those things to happen, especially the flogging. I remember the part I played in the Montran affair." Celene came to her and placed a gentle arm around her shoulders.

Leonie knew that relations between the Chevalier and Grey Wardens were strained at the best of times. The Grey Wardens had the temerity to let any peasant, farmer, thief or murderer join their Order, therefore they must be inferior. Only the elite highborn were brought into the Chevalier's ranks. It was a matter of hot debate as to who had the more noble members. This would not cool such a debate.

"Thank you, Cousin Celene. I will abide by whatever your decision is, of course, but I allow I am more than mildly relieved not to have to endure a flogging." Leonie's voice shook as she spoke.

"Now, I suggest you find a quiet corner to hide in for a week or two and then go about your duties. I will handle DeMolay. I am quite certain I can bring him around."

Leonie nearly wept in relief. "You are most gracious, Cousin Celene."

"Nonsense, I do this because I enjoy the games we play at court. I am most curious what DeMolay will ask in payment for the favor I am going to request. It will be quite delicious to watch him being manipulated yet thinking he the victor."

A shiver played along Leonie's spine at those words. She could not imagine a game she was less suited for. Yet she would be spending even more time at court in the next year. She had better learn to play the game if she was going to survive.

The days following her talk with Empress Celene were not easy for Leonie. The ripples of her duel continued in small and unexpected ways. Elves and Warden servants came to her with gifts and thanks, which confounded her and made her ill at ease. She had done nothing to be rewarded or thanked for. Most of her fellow Wardens gave her a wide berth as if afraid her tainted reputation might spread to them as well. Chevaliers simply cut her, turning their backs to her whenever she was nearby, a public censure that she at first hated and later found rather humorous. And she still could not look at Faunal without feeling a profound sense of responsibility for the death of Marliss. If she had only been there, had realized her danger sooner, she could have saved Marliss.

After a week, she was able to resume her duties at court and her patrols with Marcus, Teodar and Laurent. The physical work was much more rewarding and at least made her tired enough to sleep at night. The court duties left her somewhat numb and bewildered as she was still learning the intrigue that was the hallmark of Orlesian politics.

The first day out in the field after the incident was very uncomfortable for Leonie.

Marcus looked at her slowly healing wound and sighed dramatically. "A dueling scar, how romantic," he teased and she rolled her eyes at him.

Laurent was angry at her. "You could have killed yourself, Leonie. What were you thinking? Or rather, why weren't you thinking?" Leonie felt herself blushing and stumbling over her words. He pushed the apology aside and for an hour didn't speak to her at all as they rode to Reval.

Teodar, as quiet as ever, merely looked reproachfully at her and said absolutely nothing. But he rode beside her, his presence somehow calming her more than the words of the other two.

Slowly the ripples dissipated as ripples do and she found the slow measure of time beginning to quicken again, as days often got away from her. She had not written to Riordan or Duncan about the duel and she wasn't sure if it was shame or fear of disappointing them that kept her from doing so. She should have known someone would, however. Such was the nature of the Warden family.

Two months after the duel she received a letter from Duncan.

_My sweet Lion,_

_I have heard from Bertran about your duel. I would ask why you didn't mention it in your letter but I suspect I already know the answer. _

_What you did was a decent but extremely foolhardy thing to do. I applaud your need to avenge Marliss. I don't applaud your headlong rush into danger. I know you have probably already heard all the reasons why you shouldn't have done what you did so I won't repeat them here._

_Believe me, Lion, I do understand. Had you not killed Montran, I would have done so without hesitation. I know you well enough to know you are probably harder on yourself than anyone else ever could be. Don't muck around in this, Leo. It happened. Accept it. Learn from it. But let it go and move on, taking only the lesson with you._

_I love you, Lion. I miss you. Stay strong._

_Your devoted,_

_Duncan_

She curled up on her bed, clutching his pillow, as if she could still smell him on it, even though it had long since been laundered. Her tears were silent, soaking through the pillow covering and into the goosefeather filling. She had a much deeper appreciation for the pain and guilt Duncan must have suffered when Montran had kidnapped her. Right now all she longed for was to have his arms around her, his deep voice reassuring her that all would right itself. But he was in Denerim and she was in Val Royeaux and the only comfort she had was in knowing they would be together as soon as duty would allow.

It would be a year before she would see him again.


	23. Chapter 23

**The Weight of Waiting**

It was a very long year. Leonie thought she had been given a very light punishment for her duel with Maraville but as the time dragged like the massive lead weights on the Grand Imperial Clock, she began to realize how severe the punishment really was. The weight of waiting pressed in on her, growing heavier as each day crawled by.

Court was every bit as convoluted and confusing as she had first feared and she was often baffled by the nobles and their incomprehensible actions. Each noble seemed to have a series of secrets they used to gain favor and prestige but they seemed to lose favor and prestige by the secrets of others just as quickly as they gained it. Leonie just couldn't understand the purpose of such behavior. She knew more secrets about more nobles than she ever wanted to as Celene loved to discuss the nobles and their secrets over tea and sweetmeats each afternoon.

Finally giving up on ever understanding it all on her own, she asked her cousin why they did what they did and Celene laughed, a musical tinkling of light notes that was somehow very soothing to Leonie's frayed nerves.

"For the thrill of the Grand Game, of course. Each day it is a new game. Who will win, who will lose? What will they win and what will they lose? How long will the victor remain on top?"

"Maker's breath! Why are they not out there taking care of their lands and people?"

"They have other lesser nobles that take care of those things, Leonie. That is why the game is so important, in part. They must keep these lesser nobles _lesser_ in order to preserve their power."

Leonie shook her head in frustration. It made little sense to her and seeing her frown, Celene laughed again. "My dear, the art of the Grand Game is how creatively you can obtain that which you desire and less about keeping that which you desire. But at the very core of it, all seek one thing only. Power. The greatest of aphrodisiacs, my dear."

Leonie's mind stumbled on Celene's pronouncement. "I am quite sure, cousin, that no amount of time spent in court will ever give me a clear understanding of this Grand Game. I am not entirely sure I wish to understand it."

"And yet, dear cousin, I saw you speaking with DeMolay this very afternoon and he looked quite distraught after your conversation. I would love to know what it is that you said to him to provoke such an exquisite reaction from him."

While Celene's comment seemed innocent enough, Leonie understood the meaning behind the words. Her cousin wanted to know what she had said and it wasn't a request, it was a demand.

Leonie grinned at this, taking another sip of her tea before answering. While she hated the court games, she did enjoy bringing DeMolay down off his self-created pedestal.

"It was brought to my attention that a young unmarried shop attendant had several small children who bore a striking resemblance to the _Chevalier Dirigeant_. I merely remarked that is was quite a shame that a woman of such low means had to live in such squalid conditions and that I felt duty bound to find the disgraceful man responsible for such a deplorable state of affairs."

Celene raised a delicate brow. "Are you employing a bard, Leonie? I would not think it possible but it seems you must be."

"Not at all, Cousin Celene. I cannot afford the services of a bard nor do I condone the practice of hiring one, with all due respect of course, dear cousin."

"Then how did you come by such knowledge, if I might know."

Leonie laughed outright at that. As if she would even be allowed to hold back such knowledge from her Imperial Highness, Empress Celene, cousin or no. She had learned some lessons of court life early on.

"I was visiting a particular merchant in the tenements when I saw a young boy playing in the dirt nearby. He could have been a young version of DeMolay so I spoke with him and learned he had two other brothers and he took me to the shop where his mother works. It was not difficult to put the pieces together."

"Ah. How very clever of you, cousin. Perhaps I should hire you as my personal bard," Celene said quietly and when Leonie's head snapped up, Celene laughed again.

"The look on your face is priceless, my dear. But of course I jest. I know your true loyalties are to the Grey Wardens and so they should be."

Several days later, she was riding out of Val Royeaux with Teodar, Marcus and Laurent, delighted to be away from court even for a day. While she was slowly adapting to the ever changing Grand Game, she found she liked court life as much as she liked ogres. Both gave her headaches.

Each week they rode out toward Reval or Val Foret as it seemed the darkspawn in that area were becoming more active. They would go in, clear out a nest of darkspawn and within a week, another group had taken their place. And for every opening they destroyed, they found a new one into the Deep Roads. It was as baffling as it was worrying. This trip, Leonie decided to push further into the Deep Roads, hoping they could at least determine where the darkspawn were coming from. They would spend the night in the Deep Roads, as much as they all hated the thought, none more than Leonie.

From the very start, things went wrong. Marcus was hit with a spell that rendered him unconscious before they even sensed the darkspawn approaching. Teodar dropped the emissary with two quick arrows, but Marcus remained unconscious. Laurent took several vicious slashes to the face and went down in a shower of blood, screaming out his agony, the sound bouncing off the walls of the Deep Road and reverberating in Leonie's head. By the time she and Teodar had killed the last darkspawn, Marcus was coming around. Even as groggy as he was, he immediately went to Laurent and began healing but the wounds were deep.

Laurent was making a noise deep in his chest that spoke to how much pain he was in, low and unintelligible, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Leonie removed her gauntlets and held on to Laurent's hand while Marcus used up the last of his mana reserves trying to pull Laurent's ravaged face back together. Leonie clung to Laurent's hand, keeping him anchored, offering her strength to him, wishing she could take the pain away. Finally, Marcus put him to sleep before swathing his face in poultices and bandages.

"We'll camp here tonight. Teodar, set up the bedrolls and then see if you can find any wood. I think the darkspawn camp probably has some," she instructed, suddenly exhausted as the last of her adrenaline melted away.

Teodar took another worried look at Laurent and then began to set out the bedrolls. Leonie unpacked the waterskin and food from her pack, trying her best not to let the guilt that was edging up her spine become a permanent fixture.

It was as she was bending over their meager campfire stirring their supper of stew that the deepstalkers came. She had removed her vambraces and gauntlets to prepare their meal, her sword and shield some feet away. As soon as she heard the eerie screech announcing their arrival, she reached for her dagger even as she heard Marcus began to chant and the rustle of Teodar reaching for his bow.

The acid spit from the nearest deepstalker caught the underside of her left forearm instead of her face and much later she would be grateful for the instinctive reflex that had caused her to protect her face in time, no doubt the long practice of using her shield for protection. But when the acid hit, she was too busy writhing on the ground shrieking from the excruciating, living pain of having her skin literally eaten away by the acid to be grateful for anything. Marcus gulped down his only lyrium potion and used the power it temporarily gave him to put her to sleep.

In the morning Leonie woke groggy, forearm screaming in pain. A pathetic sounding moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. Marcus came to her immediately and began to cast a healing spell on her but from the look on his face, she knew the pain would not go away completely for some time.

"I'm sorry, Lion. I've healed the wound but even I can't replace flesh that's no longer there. It will take time for your own skin to mend itself, and you'll have a few scars."

Leonie patted his cheek and gave him a weak smile. "I will live, yes?" and as Marcus nodded, she continued, "Then you have done your job well, my friend."

She glanced over at Laurent, now awake and busy eating some cold stew, his face still hidden behind poultices and bandages. "And Laurent?"

"Much better, though he'll bear some scars as well."

"Then as soon as we are able, we need to push deeper. I want to find out where they are coming from."

In the end, they decided to return to Val Royeaux. Neither Laurent nor Leonie were in any shape to continue. Teodar, clinging to the ever present shadows in the Deep Roads, scouted ahead while the others remained in their makeshift camp.

Laurent didn't seem to mind the new scars that would permanently adorn his handsome face, claiming almost cheerfully that they would give him a dashing appearance and women adored such things.

Marcus laughed at that. "I know I certainly find them appealing," he claimed which made Laurent chuckle.

Leonie winced when she glimpsed the angry red scar that crossed from his left cheek up into his hairline in an almost perfect straight line and another that went from his chin up to his right ear.

"Stop looking like that, Leo. It isn't your fault," Laurent said quietly.

But how could she _not_ feel guilty.

They spent another night in their camp. Teodar returned having found no other traces of darkspawn nearby. That night Leonie couldn't sleep. An uneasy sensation, a discomfort she could not account for, seemed to prickle at the edges of her awareness tantalizingly out of reach, just _there_. None of the others seemed bothered by anything and she tried to chalk it up as normal Deep Road nerves. She slept fitfully. Between the ache in her arm and the teasing sensation that something was out there, she couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep.

As they repacked their gear, ready to head home, she realized the sensation was gone. She was unsure when the sensation had left her, only glad that it had. They were back in Val Royeaux within a few hours and she went immediately to Bertran to report the events.

"We could not even sense the darkspawn until they were upon us, Bertran, as if their taint was – was diluted or weaker."

Bertran frowned. "That doesn't make much sense. How can their taint be diluted?"

Leonie shrugged. "I have no idea if it is possible. I only report what we found and what we felt. Even Teodar was caught by surprise."

"Write up a report and send it to Didier. He can decide what it means, or forward it to Weisshaupt so they can decide not to bother with it. And alert all the Val Royeaux Wardens. They need to be aware of this. Good work, Lion. "

Leonie hesitated, wondering if she should mention the strange feeling from the night before as well but decided against it. There was nothing to actually report and now she viewed it as just an excess of emotion caused by Laurent's injuries.

She went to Etienne the next morning and asked him if he could teach her how to dual wield as she was unable to use her shield while her wounds slowly mended. She spent as many hours as she could each day practicing and sparring with Etienne and anyone else patient enough with her clumsy attempts. Gradually, over the long weeks and months she became more adept. Even after her wound became just an unattractive but painless scar, she did not go back to using a shield. She found the new style suited her and Etienne seemed happy with her progress. It was a punishing workout at times and she had yet to win a match against him but it helped ease the weight of waiting for time to pass.

Slowly the weeks began to turn into months. Each day spent at court felt like a torture, an endurance test, and even as she learned more and more about the Grand Game, she found she could not accept the need for it, nor had she the desire to play it. She learned just enough about the nobles to be safe from their schemes and nothing more. But she was able to increase the tithes the nobles paid the Wardens and Didier was happy for that. Not happy enough to rescind the sentence, but happy nonetheless.

Letters from Duncan seemed few and far between. He wrote to say he was planning a visit within the next three months and her heart soared. Two days after receiving that letter, she received another. He lost four men in a Deep Roads collapse. The cave-in killed three men instantly and the fourth man before they could dig him out from underneath the rubble. Duncan was devastated, his letter a testament to the men he lost and a scathing indictment of his abilities as their commander. He would not be able to visit as he had to go on a recruiting mission instead. Leonie's heart plummeted. She wrote about her own mishaps in the Deep Roads and tried to remind him why he did what he did, why they both did what they did, despite the heavy price they sometimes had to pay. She followed it up with a letter that poured out all her love for him, words she rarely allowed herself to speak flowing onto the vellum. After she wrote it, she found she missed him even more, as if the words were a reminder of the heavy weight of time passing.

In another letter, Duncan wrote about his frustration with the new king. It seemed Cailan believed that the Grey Wardens were glorious griffin riding heroes and he thought the small number of them in Ferelden was more than enough to stem the tide of any Archdemon who dared rise up. It did not help that Cailan had married Anora Mac Tir mere months after his father's death. She seemed more inclined to agree with her father in the matter of the Grey Wardens, and seemed to share his view of Orlesians. Apparently she was very much her father's daughter.

Leonie received a letter from Tremain asking after her and expressing his desire for another visit. She found that a bit odd but responded that she looked forward to his visit, whenever that may be. She also received a letter from Fiona encouraging Leonie to write if she had any concerns and once again reassuring her that they were doing all they could to find answers. The letter was almost, but not quite, cordial and Leonie responded to her as well, though far more stiffly than she had to Tremain. She didn't quite know how to communicate with her and Fiona did nothing to help that. She planned to discuss that with Duncan the next time they were together.

Eight long months into her waiting game, she had an idea and immediately set it into motion. Letters to her Uncle Renfrew and Riordan were sent. When they responded in the affirmative, she wrote to Duncan, asking if he would be able to visit Bann Renfrew's and check in on her mother, expressing concern for her. She asked if he could make the visit around her mother's birthday, explaining that a visit from an old friend would cheer her up. He wrote back and assured her that he would be happy to visit at that time.

During the last three months of her sentence time gained speed as she set about preparing for her trip to Ferelden. There were gifts to get and maps to study and her duties to attend to and she went about her days with a lighter step

The weight of waiting had finally eased .


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **_My thanks to all of you for your continued encouragement and kind words.  
I may be going out of town over the weekend so I may not post anything for the next few days._

**The Valley of Gold**

**Ferelden/Goldenvale**

They crossed into Ferelden without incident. Leonie was as surprised as she was relieved. She had expected problems but when Riordan laughed and asked her why she was frowning, all she said was, "I was sure Loghain Mac Tir himself would be standing guard over the border, condemning to death all Orlesians who dared enter his beloved Ferelden."

Ceres and Riordan were accompanying her. They had insisted. Bertran had been unremitting in his insistence. Laurent and Teodar had demanded they go and Marcus whined about not going. Bertran ignored them. Leonie graciously thanked them and then ignored them. Too many Grey Wardens entering Ferelden would only cause trouble. As it was, they were wearing plain riding clothes. Riordan thought it was best not to wear anything that might cause alarm among the local citizenry and Leonie agreed that it would be impolitic to ride into Ferelden with griffin emblazoned armor, or worse, the distinctively ornate armor worn by Orlesians.

Ferelden was colder than she expected and she was grateful for the heavy cloak that cut most of the blustery wind coming up from the south. Their second day into Ferelden the rain came. The temperature dropped and the clouds gathered. Ominously dark and laden with moisture, they opened up and drenched the landscape and all those foolhardy enough to be out and about. The road became a quagmire and they were forced to seek refuge in a small inn in a town she never did learn the name of.

The following morning the sky broke blue, but it was a pale blue as if the rain had washed away its color along with the road. The horses daintily picked their way through the mud until at last the ground beneath them was once again hardened. With each footfall of her horse, her excitement grew. She was finally in Duncan's territory and might even be traveling the same roads that he did. Her blood sang in her veins.

Ferelden. All her life she had heard stories of the harsh, uncompromising country but she found it strangely beautiful, so foreign it was almost another world to her. Heavy forests of towering pines, jagged snow capped mountains, rolling plains covered in tall sweet grass. She wondered how far away Denerim was and if she would ever get to see it. But mostly, she just gawked at the scenery as they rode along, feeling like a young girl on her first trip away from Jader.

The weather steadily improved as they continued their easterly course and before she knew it, they were entering the area known as the Bannorn. Her mother was right. The Bannorn was beautiful in the spring. It was a natural beauty unlike the carefully refined beauty of Val Royeaux. Gently rolling hillocks, covered with blooming fruit trees and farmland stretched as far as the eye could see, interspersed with seas of green pastureland complete with grazing cattle and sheep. Little but prosperous villages were sprinkled throughout the landscape. Small streams coursed through the land, emptying into rivers that wound like silver ribbon through the countryside. This truly was the heartland of Ferelden. She could understand now why her mother called it that.

After a year of infrequent letters and long hours missing him, she would be in Duncan's arms soon. Her heart leapt at that thought. She would not only get to see Duncan, but her mother as well, and she would finally meet her uncle. She was overjoyed at the prospect and found it difficult to contain that joy. It kept spilling out of her in smiles and laughter and occasional snippets of song. The men were begging her not to sing but she only relented when Riordan offered to sing in her stead. He had a wonderful baritone and knew some of the bawdiest songs Leonie had ever heard. She particularly enjoyed the one about a Rivaini pirate and his Antivan mistress, although she wasn't quite sure some of the feats mentioned were physically possible. She would have to experiment with Duncan. That thought caused her to spur Vixen into a canter.

Trying to hold her impatience in check, Leonie reined in a short time later as Ceres once again called out for a rest. He did not enjoy riding and the miles had been hard on him. It seemed almost as if he was aging before their eyes. His hair was graying and the fine network of lines around his eyes seemed to be etching ever deeper into his skin. She and Riordan were worried that they would be making a farewell trip to Orzammar within the next year, especially as Bertran was beginning to have nightmares again. The thought did not sit well with Leonie. Ceres and Bertran were every bit as much her brothers as Riordan was and she didn't want to lose any of them. They held a special place in her heart and she loved them all. And each Grey Warden brother she lost to the Calling reminded her that Duncan's own Calling was looming ever closer, that their time together was predetermined and inexorably drawing to a close. But she pushed those dark thoughts away because this was a time to celebrate with loved ones and it was springtime in the Bannorn and Duncan was waiting at the end of the journey.

"Ride on ahead, Leo. I'll stay with Ceres," Riordan instructed and without a second's hesitation, she gave lead to Vixen and continued down the wide road.

"Don't get lost!" Ceres called after her and she heard Riordan's laugh floating on the wind.

Of course that is exactly what she did. She pulled gently on the reins and Vixen slowed to a walk. There should have been a road to the south by now according to the map. She had passed two small roads leading to the north and one that led to the northeast, but of course she couldn't find the one she was looking for. She slid off Vixen and reached for the map again, but it caught in the wind and blew along the road. Feeling more than a little foolish, she went chasing after it. Vixen neighed plaintively and stamped at the ground, impatient. She probably thinks her mistress mad, Leonie thought with a smile as she finally stopped the map's getaway with a well placed riding boot.

She heard a horse in the distance and assumed it was her companions. It was not. A man in well cut hunting leathers reined in before her. He was an attractive man in his early thirties with laughing blue green eyes and thick nut brown hair. His goatee was neatly trimmed and suited his handsome face. His smile was open and beguiling and she responded with one of her own before she could stop herself.

"You appear lost, my lady. Might I offer assistance?"

Leonie blushed. "Yes, it is as you say, my lord. I am lost. I fear I have a penchant for such things."

A quietly amused laugh sprang from his lips and he quickly dismounted. Instinctively, Leonie's hand went to the hilt of her dagger and she took a step back but his smile only widened.

"You have nothing to fear from me, dear lady. I offer directions, nothing more," he assured and she relaxed her grip. His manner was both engaging and charming. Charismatic, she thought when she found his smile upon her again and she responded with one of her own.

"I ask your pardon for my suspicious mind, ser," Leonie said, blushing again. "One must be very careful on the road, yes?" He must think her an idiot. And really, who could blame the poor man, she thought wryly.

"Where are you bound for, if I may ask?"

"Goldenvale. I had thought to come upon the road south by now."

"Now what sort of business, I wonder, does a beautiful Orlesian woman have in Goldenvale?" he asked, a mischievous smile dancing across his face. _Is he flirting with me? Ridiculous! And don't you dare simper, Leonie Caron!_

"I suppose my accent gave me away, but I assure you it is a harmless visit, my lord. I am no bard, merely the niece of Bann Renfrew," she answered, once again returning his smile. _Maker's breath, stop smiling like a fool!_ And yet she could not. There was something infectious about his smile that couldn't be ignored.

"Ah, a fine man indeed. Welcome to the Bannorn, my lady. You will find the south road not far ahead, just at a sharp bend in the road. Shall I escort you? I assure you it would be no trouble."

"It is not necessary, friend. We will find our way," Riordan said quietly but firmly. Leonie turned to look at him in surprise. She hadn't even heard his approach. He was watching the stranger with wary eyes. Ceres merely nodded slightly.

With a bow, the man mounted and with another mischievous smile said, "Then I consider myself a fortunate man to have had your company for even so short a time. Good day, my lady."

With that, he gave spur to his horse and rode off. Who in the world had told her Fereldans were uncouth, uncivilized rustics? Whoever it was had been sadly misinformed. His was not the practiced charm of the nobles of Orlais, but a natural charm, totally without artifice.

"Lost? On a straight road? Lion, Lion, what are we going to do with you?" Riordan teased, shaking his head.

"It is my only failing, Riordan, and can surely be overlooked, yes?" she protested with a grin.

Riordan groaned. "_Only_ failing, lass? We'd best have a talk."

As the stranger had said, the road south was not far ahead at a sharp bend in the road. Once they came to the village of Goldenvale, Leonie's heart fluttered wildly in her chest, a caged bird ready to be free. Goldenvale Manor was near and that meant Duncan was near. But instead of continuing on to the manor, they stopped at the inn and found someone to deliver a message.

"You must give this message into Bann Renfrew's hands. It is very important that you do not give it to anyone else," she told the young man.

"Are you Leonie? If so, the Bann is expecting your note and I'm to deliver it only to him, just as you say," the young man said with a grin. She nodded and he took off at a run.

"And now we wait," Riordan said, sinking onto a bench and ordering an ale. He promptly began to chat up the barmaid. Leonie barely resisted rolling her eyes as she sank down beside him.

Less than an hour later, the young man returned. "He says you're to go along to the manor now, he is alone."

She handed the young man some silver coins as Riordan paid his tab. Leonie tapped her foot impatiently as he gave the barmaid another fulsome look. "Now, Riordan," she hissed, turning to the door without waiting to see if he was following. Ceres groaned as he mounted.

"Not long now Ceres, then you can rest for a week. You might consider sailing home out of Highever," she added, refraining from smiling.

Bending low in the saddle, body stretched forward along Vixen's neck, she dug in her spurs and plunged ahead of the two men, the crisp air whipping around her as she galloped the last few miles. Wild and free, her laugh caught in the wind as she raced along the road.

Goldenvale was breathtaking. As she pulled Vixen to a walk, she took in the manor. A large, two storied structure of pale gold sandstone stood on a low hill overlooking apple orchards and wheat fields. Winged and columned, with clean lines, it was elegant and unlike any Orlesian manor home she had ever seen. Somehow she had been expecting crumbling stone castles and dark, foreboding manors. So much for Orlesian books on the matter of Ferelden architecture, she thought with a grin.

She slipped down from the saddle and a stable boy immediately took the horse. She made her way up the steps. As she drew closer the great oak doors opened and a man stepped out that could only be Renfrew Parnell. He had the same dark hair and bright blue eyes that she had and he could have been her mother's twin, they looked so much alike. Impulsively, she gave him a hug and he beamed.

"You are the very image of your mother when she was your age. I'm so glad we're finally meeting," he greeted warmly and she smiled.

"As am I, Uncle Renfrew. I am only sorry it took so long," she replied warmly.

As they stood on the steps getting acquainted, they waited for Ceres and Riordan. Ceres gratefully relinquished his horse and after introductions, they entered the great hall. A tall vase of fresh blooms graced a large table, filling the room with a sweet smell. If she closed her eyes, she would think she was back at Jader and knew her mother had arranged the flowers because she had always known just what flowers to mix to get the perfect scent from them.

"Now, they should be back shortly. I'll show you to your rooms and let you freshen up. I suspect you'll want to stay there until they return," Renfrew said, escorting them up the wide curving stairs.

Leonie's heart could not decide whether to stop altogether or beat wildly so it tried to do both. Her hands were trembling and her knees were remarkably weak. She felt like that eighteen year old girl who had once asked Duncan to love her, all fluttering heart and breathless.

"And I have heard all about the famous Grey Warden appetites, and witnessed it first hand with Duncan this morning, so I have had a meal prepared," he added.

The room he led her to overlooked an informal garden and was large and bright. She spied Duncan's silver backed brush sitting on the small vanity and she let her fingertips trail over it. Strands of his dark hair were entwined in the bristles. Maker, she had missed him.

A maid tapped on the door, bringing hot water with her. "Young Jeb is bringing your things up shortly, milady."

Leonie nodded absently, her eyes coming to rest on a shirt of Duncan's folded neatly across a chair. She picked it up, burying her face in it. His fragrance still clung to it, leather and musky sweat and that indefinable smell that only Duncan had, like grass newly cut, earthy and fresh and full of sunshine. It always reminded her of lazy summer days spent in the meadow by the creek, laying in his arms and loving him so much that it was a physical ache.

And then suddenly she was overcome with a fear that he might feel differently, that things might have changed between them, that her new scars were too ugly, a thousand little changes might add up to too big a change. She sank into a chair, still clutching his shirt, tears prickling her eyes. Would he still love her? And then she heard her uncle's voice welcoming her mother and Duncan back from their walk. She heard Duncan's footsteps in the hall and she hid on the other side of the armoire, all fear gone, heart racing in anticipation. The door opened and he was there, she heard him move into the room.

Her heart now pounding, her smile quivering, she stepped out and said in a voice throaty with emotion, "It's about time you got here." An echo of another time, a reflection of his own words.

His expression froze and then a look of bewilderment crossed his features as if he thought he might be seeing things. "Leonie?" he asked, his voice hesitant. And then he was smiling, his arms open. Dropping his shirt, she went to him, the loneliness of the past year dissolving as his arms closed around her.

"Maker, I have missed you," she breathed against his neck, her throat clogged with tears.

"And I you, Lion," he answered simply before his lips found hers. And somehow it seemed as if they had not been apart at all, their bodies flowing together, lips and hips and all parts in between reuniting, tongues melded, want quickly growing into need.

She reached behind him and turned the key in the lock, feeling his smile against her lips as she did so.

"I take it you have plans for us," he said, his voice husky, pulling away to look at her. Her breath was taken away, captured by the hunger in his eyes.

"I do indeed, my dear Duncan, I do indeed," she replied with a sly grin, fingers sliding under his shirt and scratching lightly at a nipple. He groaned, his lips urgent on hers.

As quickly as they could, they undressed each other, touching and kissing as each piece of clothing fell away. Then he pulled her onto the bed. Duncan's bare skin was a drug to her and she was addicted to the feel of it, the taste of it. She bent low, her hair brushing against his muscled torso as she trailed moist kisses along him. His hips bucked reflexively and she took that as an invitation to continue her exploration with both hands and mouth. His fingers, tangled in her hair, guided her.

"Lion," he growled in warning, but she continued her assault until his growl was a shuddering cry. Only then did she slide up his body, skin to skin, her addiction momentarily sated.

"I love you," she said, burrowing into his arms and just breathing him in, home at last.

"You don't say," he murmured, nuzzling at her neck.

She pushed back a little so that she could see him. "Oh but I do say. And what of you, my Rivaini pirate? Is there someone _you_ love?" she teased, kissing his shoulder.

"My insatiable Lion," he answered and with a deft move, he rolled them over, looking down at her now with a glint in his dark eyes.

"And what do you intend to do about that?" she queried, widening her eyes.

He proceeded to show her exactly what he intended to do.


	25. Chapter 25

**Gifts**

Leonie gazed down at Duncan and smiled tenderly, stroking his temples with her fingertips. His dark lashes smudged his cheekbones and she ran a gentle finger along his full lower lip. He smiled faintly and then his breathing deepened as he drifted off. She dropped a light kiss on his brow and then quietly dressed and left the room. Her stomach was commanding her to eat and she could no longer ignore it, for all that she would prefer to be napping with Duncan.

Entering the informal dining room, she saw that Riordan and Renfrew were chatting as comfortably as two old friends. They looked up and Riordan gave her a broad wink.

"Ready to eat, lass? he smirked and Leonie felt the heat of a blush fanning her cheeks. She busied herself with loading a plate full of food, ignoring him.

Once she had taken a seat, she turned to her uncle. "Is everything arranged, Uncle Renfrew?"

"It is. The crate arrived two weeks ago and I've hidden it away. Nila suspects nothing. Ceres has taken her for a walk in the gardens."

"Perfect. I know Mama will enjoy this but I suspect Duncan will want to beat me. He hates surprises of any kind."

Riordan laughed. "There's no way I'd risk his temper, but I warrant you'll get away with it. For some unknown reason he has a soft spot for you," he complained.

"Soft spot or no, his expression will be worth it," she said with a chuckle. "As long as you don't give it away and spoil the whole thing."

Riordan shot her a look of feigned hurt. "I'm the soul of discretion, Lion," he protested but his irrepressible grin belied his words.

"Peacock blue wrapper," she said only and at this Renfrew, who had watched the exchange with a good humored smile, gave her a questioning look.

"I shall only say that discretion is not really his strong suit."

"I'm sure there is quite a story there but as it doesn't seem likely you'll tell me, I'll take you out to the barn so you can open your crate. I'm rather curious about what's in there."

"As am I," Riordan chimed in.

Leonie rose, stuffing the last of her buttered roll into her mouth, and took the arm her uncle offered. When they stood before the crate, Renfrew set about opening it. He set the lid aside and she sank down, pushing aside the straw packing before proudly displaying its contents.

Riordan let out a low whistle. "I've never seen anything like it," he said finally.

"Nor have I, Leonie. Where did you find it?" Renfrew asked, bending lower to study the craftsmanship.

She had first seen it in an old illustrated manuscript in Celene's personal library and known instantly that it would be perfect for Duncan. For three months she had worked with artisans to have it completed in time for their reunion. She had written to Vandhar, who then graciously contacted his Dalish clan's crafters. She had created sketches from the illustration and they had been easy enough to draw, but discovering what materials to use had been difficult and time consuming. Celene had even helped with the materials, fascinated by the unusual design, her romantic nature captivated by the notion of such a gift. She had her best armorsmiths assist Leonie. The result was worth the effort and, judging by their reactions, Renfrew and Riordan thought so as well.

"It is a copy of the armor worn by Andalus, a Rivaini pirate. He plundered the coastal waters from Alfsaana to Seere and was a notorious rake and brilliant sea captain, from all accounts. And quite handsome, if the illustration of him is any indication," she explained. "And of course Duncan bears some resemblance to him." She smiled up at Riordan.

"When Andalus saw the destruction of his beloved Rivain by the Qunari, he turned his ship west, leaving behind his treasures and fought with great distinction at the Battle of the Nocen Sea in 7:23 Storm. Accounts say he singlehandedly destroyed four Qunari warships. He is quite a hero amongst the Rivaini people. They call him the Pirate Warrior. Both the name and armor just seem to suit Duncan, do they not?"

"Indeed lass," Riordan agreed with a grin. "And you're spoiling him rotten," he added with a wink. Leonie stuck her tongue out at him.

Once Renfrew secured the barn door, Leonie removed each piece of armor for the men to inspect. The cuirass was deeply etched silverite. It was lightweight and flexible as the underpinning was dragonbone, the silverite just a thin overlay. The vambraces, pauldrons, greaves and sabatons were of the same material and delicately etched as well. The arming jacket and leggings was soft, supple buckskin, made by Vandhar's Dalish clan. There were two overskirts that took the place of surcoat, tassets and faulds. The first skirt was of the same buckskin as the arming jacket. The main overskirt was made of two layers of halla hide and between those layers was a thin layer of ironbark. The skirts were trimmed in bands of silverite. It was, in Leonie's opinion, as unique and beautiful as the man who was to wear it.

"Do I want to know how you got the measurements?" Riordan asked, fingering the various belts and accoutrements that went with the armor set.

Leonie gave an embarrassed laugh and her cheeks reddened. "You do not. Let us just say there are several men in Val Royeaux who blush whenever they see me coming," she admitted sheepishly.

Both men laughed at her admission and then they packed the armor back into the crate, but not before Leonie extracted a small, carved chest. She opened it and took out a gold locket. Opening it, she held it up. Riordan took it and for a minute, his perpetually happy expression faded, replaced with one of sorrow. "Ah, lass, it's a good likeness of Balfour."

Leonie rested her hand on his, comforting both of them with the touch. "I found a painter who specializes in miniatures so I brought Papa's portrait to him and he fashioned this. He makes Papa look wonderful, does he not?"

Renfrew examined it next. "She misses him a great deal. I know she will appreciate this, Leonie. I try to introduce her to other men but she doesn't really seem interested. She has friends from her youth that still live here but Nila hasn't seen many of them since she moved back and I haven't pushed it. Perhaps I should have. She and Bann Roan Gilmore of Hunter Fell used to be very close."

"I doubt you would have been able to push it, Uncle Renfrew. Mama is an extraordinarily stubborn woman. But perhaps it is time to remind her that she is still young, yes?"

* * *

Leonie surreptitiously examined her mother, seeing the first strands of silver in the dark hair, the light mesh of lines at the corners of her eyes, the grooves around her mouth. And yet, she remained beautiful. She was surprised that her mother had not remarried. Leonie had expected her to go back home and fall in love with one of the neighboring banns. But life here agreed with her as she appeared, if not happy, at least content.

They were seated once again in the informal dining room, all nattering away, trying to cover the past year all at once. Duncan was on her left, holding her hand as if he still couldn't believe she was sitting beside him. Her mother was on her right and she and Leonie kept talking and crying and laughing.

Dinner was a noisy, boisterous affair. Leonie caught her uncle's eye and smiled her thanks. He had graciously opened his home and warmly welcomed them all, had fallen in with Leonie's plans without hesitation and she was thankful for it.

The meal was almost over when Riordan stood. Raising his goblet, his expression serious, he said, "To our brothers, absent but never forgotten. Someday we shall join you," he said quietly. They all rose and silently drank to the toast, a long standing tradition amongst them.

Leonie glanced at Renfrew, sitting at the head of the table and nodded when she caught his eye. With a whisper to the servant behind him, he stood up as the dining room doors opened. Two men came in carrying the crate and placed it beside Duncan, who was looking at it with puzzled suspicion, as if expecting it to open and darkspawn to pour forth. Leonie watched, trying to hide a giggle.

She stood up and raised her goblet. "To my beautiful mother, Nila Parnell Caron and to my handsome Rivaini pirate, Duncan, we all bid you a felicitous birthday. I add a wish for a joyous year, and a thank you for allowing us to share in your respective birthdays."

"So say you, Leonie Caron, so say we all!" Ceres cried and raised his goblet. Riordan and Renfrew repeated the cry before the four of them toasted to both Nila and Duncan, who were wearing identical expressions of surprise.

"I know I am a week late with my birthday wishes, Mama, but as I am a week early with my birthday wishes for Duncan, I am actually right on time, am I not?" Leonie said with a smile. She bent and kissed her mother's cheek and deposited the small carved box in front of her.

"The large present is for Duncan, as he, like most men, believes bigger is better," she added with an impudent grin and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, trying to look stern and disapproving but she saw the gleam in his eye and knew he was touched.

"Well, for Makers sake, open them," Ceres urged impatiently, sitting back down and grinning.

Leonie watched a bit anxiously as her mother slowly opened the box, hoping that the miniature of her father would not cause painful memories to stir in her mother's heart.

"Oh Leo, it's perfect," her mother breathed, taking out the locket and opening it. She promptly burst into tears and Leonie knelt down, hugging her.

"Mama, please do not cry. I - I can take it back, I did not want to cause you pain," Leonie whispered, feeling hot tears sliding down her own cheeks. She was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot. How could she not have known this would cause her mother pain.

"No, no, Lion, it's such a lovely likeness. I couldn't be happier with it," her mother responded through a shower of tears. "Now help me with the clasp, child, and know that I am crying because I'm happy."

Renfrew came over and laid a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder.

Duncan's first reaction would stay with Leonie for the rest of her days. He was like a young boy opening gifts on Feastday, his face shining with an incandescent joy she had never seen before, but it lasted for no more than a wink of an eye before he once again wore his usual composed expression. She wondered if he had ever been given gifts as a child and the thought that he had not gave her a sharp pang. She sank down beside him as he ran a reverent hand along the curve of the breastplate.

"Tell him about the pirate, Leo," Riordan urged with a grin.

Duncan looked at her and she saw that his cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were glinting with tears that he quickly blinked away. Or perhaps she had only imagined it. But it was that joy in that unguarded first moment of opening his gift that she would always treasure.

After much encouragement and teasing, he tried it on, Leonie helping him. As she was strapping on the pauldrons, she told him about Andalus, the Pirate Warrior. When the last belt was cinched, the result was just as she had expected. He looked every bit the pirate warrior and she fell in love with him all over again.

"It fits very well, Lion. How did you get the correct measurements?" Duncan inquired, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands to test the fit.

"As I told Riordan earlier, you truly do not wish to know. But I may have a bit of a reputation for spontaneous molesting of strangers now," she admitted with a grin.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, whispering, "Thank you, Lion. I'll wear it proudly."

* * *

"_You are not to stay, Leonie Caron. It is not yet your time to be here."_

_She stared at him, noticing the slight changes to his features. He nodded, and she saw that his face, more human looking than before, was almost a patchwork of new skin bleeding in with the old and none of it rotted and twisted like darkspawn. _

"_You will never be human, no matter how hard you try, creature," she whispered but the fear was bubbling up in her, rising to her throat._

"_I am neither human, nor darkspawn, Leonie Caron. One day they will say the same of you. That is my gift to you."_

_And the fear that was bubbling in her throat rose out of her in a terrified scream._


	26. Chapter 26

**Blood Ties**

**Val Royeaux, 2 months later**

Tremain sat across from her, frowning. "You didn't think the dream was important enough to report?"

"I knew you would be here soon enough. The report would have passed you on your way. There was no point."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tremain let out a sigh that told her just how unhappy he was at the moment. "You are a stubborn and foolish woman at times, Leonie. Your first priority should have been to inform us."

Pushing her chair back, she stood up, hands planted on her desk as she leaned toward the handsome, angry man. "My first priority? As if there is anything the great Weisshaupt Wardens can do about it. You have had years to find him, to unravel the mystery, and yet you have no more answers now than you ever did. Do not talk to me of priorities, Tremain. I am sick unto death of demands from you, with no regard for the Wardens who fight and die every day protecting all of you while you sit in some secluded fortress."

Tremain's eyes widened at the unexpected rancor. He was used to her pliancy, her willingness to follow his commands and Leonie wanted to laugh at the confused, hurt expression that found its way to his face.

"You may take my blood once again and go back to the ever charming Fiona and continue trying to work out the real reason for this Architect invading my dreams, or you can leave without it, but I am not going to stop living my life because of these dreams."

Tremain stood up as well, towering over her and she saw his hurt had given way to irritation. "You forget who you are speaking to, Leonie. I am second to First Warden Eldrond. When I speak, I speak for him. You would do well to remember that."

Laughter rolled past her lips before she could stop it, sparking around the room in mocking arcs. "And you would do well to remember that I am not some lackey that will bow to you, no matter who it is you speak for."

Bertran cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence. "I think we should all take a deep breath. Arguing isn't going to solve the problem either."

Leonie had forgotten he was there and was immediately contrite. She didn't want Bertran to be caught in the eddies because of her temper. "Of course you are right, Bertran. I am tired and hungry, as well. Perhaps we can continue this discussion after a meal?"

While she would never admit it to him, she agreed with Tremain that she should have written a formal report about her dream but she had learned that while Weisshaupt demanded much from the Wardens, they offered little.

Duncan would be disappointed with her if he knew she hadn't sent in a report. He had spent the morning after her dream trying to calm her down and offer her comfort. She had agreed to report it when she returned to Val Royeaux but once home, she had found the note that Tremain would be there within the next two months so she had waited.

Wishing fervently she had not thought of Duncan and his disappointment, she wearily rubbed her temples with her fingertips, wondering how Tremain could give her a headache so quickly. But there is was, a throbbing, low and persistent at her temples, preparing for her next round with him. It came sooner than she would have liked.

"I have come to a decision, Leonie, and have already spoken to Bertran in regard to it. You'll need to start packing."

Looking up from her desk, where she had been cradling her aching head in her hands, she glared at him.

"What are you on about, Tremain?" she asked tightly, her headache deciding to travel to the back of her skull and take up residence there.

"You don't have the proper research facilities here."

Pinning a baleful glare at him, she stood up again. "Does talking in riddles give you joy, Tremain?"

"We're going to Weisshaupt."

The words were like a mortal wound, her thoughts bleeding away from her. "When you say 'we're' just who do you mean, Tremain?" She wanted to cut her tongue out for even asking, and while she was at it, she wanted to cut his out for even mentioning Weisshaupt.

"Don't be a fool, Leonie. You know who I mean."

She didn't want to know, she didn't want to acknowledge it because it she did, it would be true. She slumped at her desk, the fight deserting her at the very moment she needed it. At least it had taken her headache with it.

"Do not ask this of me, Tremain. Bertran is not well, he will be leaving for his Calling within the next few months and so will Commander Ceres. My place is here, with them." The pleading notes were discordant, speaking of weakness.

"I'm not asking you, Leonie. I'm telling you. We leave within the week, so I suggest you say your goodbyes during that time."

He was gone before she could marshal her thought for some kind of response. Duncan had been planning a visit in the coming weeks as he too wanted to say his goodbyes to Bertran and Ceres. But she would not be here to see him, to draw from him the strength she would need to let Bertran and Ceres go. For the first time in her life, she wanted to resign from the Grey Wardens, to walk away from it all and live an ordinary, quiet life somewhere away from the constant tug in her blood and ache in her heart. She found herself in Bertran's office some minutes later. His face reflected her heart, sorrowful and wistful.

"Bertie, is there no way to prevent this? I do not wish to be gone now. I promised you I would be there. I promised Ceres. I do not know how to keep this promise if I am being made to go to Weisshaupt."

"I'm sorry, Lion. Best I can do is have Marcus and Teodar accompany you, if Tremain agrees."

"And Laurent?"

Bertran shook his head. "He's going to be busy with Etienne. I want him to take over training. Etienne is being promoted to Commander of Montsimmard. I'm bringing in a new second, from Val Foret. A good man, Kristoff."

Sinking into a chair, she felt as if her entire life was changing around her and she had absolutely no control over it. "I believe I met him once. He seems a very nice man, married, I believe?"

Was that really her voice, sounding so nonchalant? How could it be when inside she was weeping and wailing? When it felt like her heart was cracking apart leaving its core exposed and vulnerable? When she felt little bits of her dying away. Enough was enough.

"I hereby tender my resignation," she added deathly quiet. Bertran just laughed.

"You can't resign, Lion. The taint binds you to the darkspawn, it drives you every bit as much as their taint drives them to seek the old Gods. You can try to walk away but it won't do any good. Fate won't be denied, just because you don't like what it has in store for you. "

Acknowledging that meant acknowledging how powerless she was right now. Leaving meant that she would not be there for him when he had been there for her so many times. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles white. Bertran and Ceres would be gone when she returned and the blood ties that bound them all would be broken. And there was Duncan, who would be here in a matter of weeks and Maker knew when they would be together again, their time more precious with each passing day.

Through the maze of thoughts winding through her brain, a new thought struck her and she latched on to it. "Why is Kristoff taking my place as your second?" she asked suspiciously.

"Why do you think, Leonie?" he asked with a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"Oh do not do this, Bertran," she whispered and tears spilled then, salty and abundant.

"You've always known you would take my place, Lion. I never pretended otherwise."

Dying on her tongue was the protest, the _denial_ of his statement because he was right and the duty that flowed in her veins, bound to her tainted blood, had always known that she would take his place as the Commander of the Grey of Val Royeaux.

"I will do all that I can to live up to your legacy, my dearest friend," she whispered when her voice was once again under her command.

"You will surpass my legacy with one of your own making, Lion. Some people are just born to greatness and I've always know you were one of those."

Here Leonie looked up and shook her head. "If that were the case, I would not be taken away to Weisshaupt like a naughty child being punished," she disagreed and standing, she went to place her arms around him. He blushed and flustered and then hugged her tightly.

"It's alright, Leonie. In some ways I'm relieved we won't have a long, drawn out goodbye."

"Then let us stop this maudlin discussion and simply enjoy the days we have together."

In the end it was decided that they would stop in Jader so that Leonie could say her goodbyes to Ceres. Tremain didn't want to but Leonie was insistent. Marcus would accompany them, but Teodar was staying to help with the transitions in Val Royeaux. Leonie spent the next few days wrapping up reports and spending as much time as she could with Bertran. He might still be there when she came back but they couldn't be sure and she wouldn't take the risk.

They shared a private dinner in her quarters two days before she was due to leave, reminiscing and laughing. If there was an edge of desperation in their laughter, neither mentioned it.

"I shall never forget the first time I saw you, standing heads above the rest of the crowd. I asked Papa if you were a Qunari, you were so tall. And from that day on, you have been a true friend, dear Bertie. You have always been honest, even when the truth was painful."

Bertie turned pink around the collar of his tunic but he grinned sheepishly. "You know I love you like a daughter, Leo. You have always done me proud. No matter what you believe, you'll make an excellent Warden Commander. For some reason that I have yet to figure out, the men actually listen to you."

As she stood at her open door, watching him walk away, she wondered if she would ever get used to saying goodbye to those she loved, and she hoped not. If she ever did, it would surely mean she had stopped feeling altogether.

As soon as she shut the door, she went to her desk and began a letter.

_My dearest Rivaini Pirate,_

_I am afraid that I have offended the Weisshaupt Wardens and am now packing for a trip north. I have always wanted to see the great fortress but not under these circumstances. I am fortunate that Marcus will accompany us, and I have talked that horrid Tremain into stopping by Jader so that I may say my farewell to Ceres. Maker, I hate these farewells. But I will do as you have taught me and give him the farewell he deserves._

_I so wish I could be here when you arrive as being in your arms is the only true peace I enjoy. I have so many things I want to say right now and yet I am unable to write so many of them. Know that I love you, more than it is possible to love. Know that I miss you each hour of each day. Know that my heart beats in rhythm with yours and that I will see you as soon as I am able. _

_I will write from Weisshaupt if those pompous, overstuffed idiots allow for such a thing. _

_I love you, Duncan, every minute of every day._

_Forever your devoted and loving,_

_Lion_

* * *

"Why must I go to Weisshaupt, Tremain? I have much to do here and I am more than willing to part with a vial of blood. I will even offer two vials. Surely you do not need me there as well."

They were seated in her quarters the evening before their departure. She had been trying to get out of the trip for the last five days to no avail. Apparently he could be every bit as stubborn as she could. Now, as she looked at him, she saw his handsome features twitch and it finally hit her that he was hiding something.

"What is it, Tremain? What are you not telling me? Why this sudden urgency for me to go to Weisshaupt?"

Tremain shook his head slightly. "The urgency is a sentient darkspawn who is communicating with you, Leonie. Isn't that enough of a concern to warrant some urgency?"

Leonie narrowed her eyes as she studied him. His blue eyes did not quite meet hers, looking at a point just above her brows. His mouth was a bit too tight. "Perhaps, Tremain, yet I cannot help but think you are hiding something from me. It is the way of you Weisshaupt Wardens to do that, is it not? Withhold information that is germane to the field Wardens?"

His demeanor shifted slightly and he leaned forward. The flicker of concern she had seen in his eyes earlier was back and with it a tiny spark of fear. "I was told you didn't need to know, Leonie and I believed that. However, now that you've told me about your latest dream, I think you should know."

"A wise decision, Tremain. What is it I should know?" she persisted, hands folded carefully in her lap.

"You are changing, Leonie. I can feel the taint in you. It is different now than it was before."

Heart hitting the floor, she stared at him, mouth agape. Finally she gave voice to the first few thoughts that smacked into her brain. "None of the others have mentioned any change. How is it that you have this sudden insight into my taint? How is it you can feel a change that nobody else can?"

"I can't tell you that. You'll have to trust me that I know. I can sense it."

"Oh, no you do not. You do not get to make such a claim and then not answer how you can feel such a thing. If you expect me to put my life on hold so that you can drag me to Weisshaupt for Maker only knows how long or for what purpose, you have a very limited understanding of who you are dealing with, Tremain."

Leonie was up and pacing angrily. Anger was much preferred to the horror just at the edges of her vision, waiting and watching for the perfect time to strike. She spun around and came to him, bending over him as he sat, placing her hands on the arms of his chair, pinning him to his seat with eyes and stance.

"Tell me now, Tremain, or watch me disappear forever," she promised, her words precise and cold.

"We took some of your blood and experimented with the properties, trying to determine what might be different about your blood. We used other Warden blood from Weisshaupt Wardens who had their Joining around the same time you had your Joining. There was something different but we didn't understand what."

He paused, leaning back in his chair to look up at her. In that look was an apology and something else she couldn't identify. Not fear. Anxiety? She wasn't sure, but whatever it was gave her the courage to keep pressing for an answer she was no longer sure she wanted.

"Continue, Tremain," she instructed, pushing away from him, arms folded tightly across her chest.

"We created a Joining ritual with your blood, hoping it would help determine what the differences were."

"Holy Maker," she whispered, appalled and fascinated in equal measure.

"What did you do with this?" she finally asked when he didn't continue.

"I drank it."


	27. Chapter 27

**What Price Victory?**

Obviously the Wardens of Weisshaupt were all insane, especially Tremain. The could be no other explanation. What had possessed him to do such a thing as drink her blood, not knowing what might happen? There were too many questions playing tag in her brain to even ask anything in those first few moments. She just stared at him, mouth agape, wondering if she were in the throes of a nightmare. He was looking at her speculatively, no doubt wondering what her reaction might be to the news. She was too busy processing the information to have a reaction.

"What in the name of the Maker were you thinking?" she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"If Fiona is to be believed, I wasn't thinking," Tremain said with a hint of a smile. What in Thedas was there to smile about?

Hands clenched into fists. "Please, this is not the time to be coy," she began hotly and then, as a new train of thought collided in her brain with the other dozen trains, she continued, "You took a second joining. How can you have survived? And to what end?" The entire time she was thinking and talking she was pacing restlessly around the room, fists swinging at her side.

"Would you at least sit down? You're like a caged lion, if you'll pardon my poor attempt at humor," he said and the suggestion of a smile became full blown.

Leonie groaned. Humor would not defuse the situation or ease her concerns. "You realize this is the worst possible time for jokes, poor or otherwise, yes?" she asked, coming to sit in her chair again, perched on the edge of it like a nervous bird. Before he had time to answer her questions, she was up and pacing the room, hands once again fisted.

"I want you to do something for me, Leonie. Reach out and feel my taint. See if it's different than the other Wardens."

Leonie had become so used to blocking out the pull of the taint in other Wardens that she hadn't realized that his _was_ different. A discomfort, a different sensation, an unease that she instantly recognized by the way it made her hair stand on end. Her horror grew.

"Holy Maker," she whispered. "I – I have felt that before."

Tremain's look of surprise would have been comical had the situation not been so deadly serious. "What do you mean?" he demanded and the register of his voice had risen. His fear was feeding off her fear which was feeding off his. That fear was going to quickly spiral if they didn't both calm down.

Several steadying breaths later, she explained, "I have felt it in the Deep Roads on two separate occasions. It is that feeling you get when you think you are being watched and cannot see anyone. Do you understand what I mean?"

His face blanched at that, all the color just drained away and his eyes looked almost feverish. "Then you must have been feeling the Architect. Why didn't you tell us?"

"What was there to tell? It was an ordinary feeling, Tremain, one I am confident you have experienced at some point in your life," she replied tightly. Had she never felt Tremain's taint, she would never have mentioned it. To be so absurdly upset on the matter was a waste of energy. They were silent for long minutes as both became caught up in their private thoughts yet again.

"You can feel my taint. How is it different than others?" she finally asked.

"When I first met you, it was very strong, an angry pull, not unlike that from other Wardens. Now it has changed. It's imperceptible but there. It's not as strong, not as virulent. More like the feeling you described. Fiona has postulated a theory about that."

Leonie rolled her eyes. "What theory is that?" And there was a tinge of animosity in her voice. Why had they not written her with this news? _Why must everything be such a Maker damned secret with these people?_

"The blood from the darkspawn you killed must have been altered in some way. She believes the Architect is experimenting to develop a ritual similar to that of the Grey Wardens, to connect the darkspawn with humans or to disconnect their need to search out the Old Gods."

"That is why the others were drained of blood? To use Grey Warden blood in some kind of Joining ritual?" she asked, her voice rising in horror. She was staggered by the idea of such a thing and any other questions she had momentarily fled in the face of that one thought alone.

"We believe so."

Silence again as she sorted through all her thoughts and fears. "What is the real reason you need me to go to Weisshaupt, Tremain? You want me to go there but you won't say why. All fo this could be discussed now, my blood sample taken. Why must I travel with you to Weisshaupt?"

Tremain stood and began it was his turn to pace the room. He ran a hand through his thick blonde hair, dislodging the perfect waves in his agitation. Leonie had a wild urge to laugh, to tease him about his perfection being flawed but she bit back the urge, knowing it was just another form of shock. And this was all proving to be a shock.

"Your taint is progressing much more slowly than a Grey Warden with the normal taint. We want to find out why, perhaps come up with an alternative ritual to administer to new recruits."

"Maker's breath! You want to drain me of blood to find a way for Wardens to live longer? You are no better than the Architect!" she exclaimed angrily. She came to stand before him, shaking with a combination of shock and rage.

"You do not get to use my blood to fuel some bizarre research that sounds very much like his! You can pretend the research is otherwise, but I will not allow this."

Tremain lowered his eyes and nodded. "I understand you see it that way, Leonie. It doesn't sound any better than what he's done when you put it like that, but I have a duty to the Wardens, Leonie. This is part of that duty."

The anger bled away, leaving her exhausted and frightened. "And still I think you are withholding information from me, yes? After all this, you still hesitate to trust me."

"There is something else about your blood that we discovered after I – " and here he paused, looking somehow chagrined. He was able to drink her blood but not say the words aloud? She would have laughed had the situation been different.

"Drank my blood?" she finally offered grimly. She folded her arms across her chest, rocking on her the balls of her feet. When he nodded at last, she asked, "And what is that?"

"Drinking your blood gave me access to part of the secret contained in it, but it is also killing me much faster than the usual tainted blood. We want to see if a stronger mixture of your blood will have the reverse effect."

"Andraste's grace! Have all of you in Weisshaupt gone completely mad?"

"Think of it, Leonie! Less deaths during the Joining. Wardens living longer lives. Your blood holds a key if we can ever understand how to unlock it."

"And in the process we lose our humanity, Tremain. How are we any different than the monsters we fight if I allow you to experiment on me, to – to allow you to drain me of blood in the hope that we extend lives by some arbitrary amount of time? What price victory, Tremain?" she asked, her words laced with bitterness.

"At any cost. By any means necessary. As it has always been, Leonie."

"Oh no you do not, Tremain. You do _not_ throw those words in my face, not when you sit in your precious fortress hiding secrets and playing at being the Maker with other people's blood. You have all forgotten everything our history has taught us. We do not throw our brothers and sisters away with a needless death to further experiments. _We_ do not, but evidently Weisshaupt does."

She opened her door then, pointing. "Get out."

He stood where he was, eyes boring into her. "You are going to go to Weisshaupt, Leonie. If it means I keep you asleep the entire time, or tied to your horse, you are going to be leaving tomorrow morning. This is too important to let your sudden conscience stand in the way of what could be potentially the most important research in the history of the Wardens."

"My sudden conscience? At least I have a conscience. You are all as mindless as the darkspawn we fight. **We** fight, not you," she mocked contemptuously.

"Enough. You will go to Weisshaupt by order of the First Warden," he directed, his voice icy chips.

She scoffed at that, the snort inelegant and expressive. "You can take me there by force if that is what you desire, and you can drain me dry of blood, Tremain. But you will never have any answers or any satisfactory explanation because you and Fiona and the rest of the bloody Wardens up there are so far removed from what it is to be a Warden, you will not recognize the true answer when it comes."

They stood toe to toe, each unwilling to bend. Finally after several minutes passed he looked away. "We leave at dawn. I'll expect to see you at the docks by then. And to ensure that you are there, I'll leave a guard at your door tonight."

She slammed the door behind him, feeling childish but oddly comforted by the sound. She went to her desk and began another letter to Duncan.

_My love,_

_I am afraid that I may not be returning from Weisshaupt. For reasons I have yet to fathom, they think my blood is going to make Wardens live longer, even though it is killing Tremain faster, as he was foolish enough to drink it. They are mad up there. Perhaps it is living in a land that is so tainted from the Blights that it has twisted their brains. Or perhaps they have simply forgotten what it means to be a Grey Warden and fight darkspawn. _

_I do not want to go, especially now, after talking to Tremain. He has told me that he will take me there by force, if necessary and I have no reason not to believe such a thing. Marcus will be with me, but the others are Tremain's handpicked guards so I do not think I will be able to rely on them if the situation becomes dire. Perhaps I am overreacting. I suspect that is what you are thinking and I believe I am, to a degree. I certainly have that hope._

_I keep asking myself what price victory? What price for victory is too high a price to pay? Is there such a thing? I believe defeating the darkspawn, protecting the citizens of Thedas from the horde and a Blight are of the utmost importance. That is our sworn duty and I stand by it, I live it each day. But if we become no better than the darkspawn is that truly a victory? What have we truly gained? What is worth preserving at such a high cost? Do we win no matter what, even if that victory means we lose our very humanity? _

_I wonder, now that I have had some time to gather my wits about me, if the Architect is truly a sentient darkspawn or if he is some corrupted Grey Warden whose blood was somehow different to begin with? And with that thought comes the other sensible companion thought. I am different. __**My**__ blood is different. Is that what I am to become in the end? Something that is neither darkspawn nor human, refusing to die and bent on turning all of Thedas into a mirror image of myself? How can I not believe that is a possibility? If I find myself even beginning to entertain such feelings, I will end my life. I will not become that which I spend my lifetime fighting._

_Ah, my love, how I wish you were here. Your reasoned and thoughtful insights would prove invaluable, and probably quiet this troubled heart._

_I feel as though there are so many things to say, my dearest Duncan. Or perhaps they have all been said and do not bear repeating. _

_Know that my heart resides within yours and that no matter how great the distance, I am only a thought away._

_All my love, _

_Lion_

There was no sleep for Leonie that night. She spent a long time just staring into the dark, her mind still trying to come to terms with what she had learned. Tremain was dying more quickly. Her blood was obviously a poison to someone already tainted. There had been a small voice within her that had cheered when she had first learned that her blood was slowing down the taint, allowing her to live longer, her first thoughts going to Duncan and a hope that her blood could be used to somehow extend his life. But that cheer died almost before it began. Tremain was proof it would not work.

Leonie rose early and was dressed well before dawn. Opening her armoire, she took a small chest down and opened it. There were twenty three letters in it, all from Duncan. She carefully put it in her pack. Where she went, they went. She looked around her bedroom, remembering the nights she and Duncan had spent there, missing him so much she felt ill with longing. Would she ever see him again? She had to believe she would or she would not be able to board the ship.

Finally, she gathered her pack and kit, her weapons and her willpower before giving Astrid the letter she had written the night before.

"Make sure Duncan receives this when he arrives. If he does not come here, find him and deliver it. Only to Duncan. Do you understand, Astrid?"

"Of course, Lady Leonie, I will do what you ask. Maker guide your path," Astrid said as Leonie, taking one last look around, walked out the door.

Maker guide her path? She doubted the Maker was watching any more intently now than he ever had. It was not the Maker that she needed to concern herself with. It was the Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt who thought they _were_ the Maker, who were willing to do anything for victory, no matter how much it cheapened the sacrifices of all who had died in service to the Grey Wardens.

But she was Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais and it would take more than the Weisshaupt Wardens to tame her. She held her head high as she made her way to the dock, the guard two-stepping to catch up.

"Good morning Leonie," Tremain said cheerfully as they met on the dock. She raised a silent brow at him.

"Morning, Leo. You look awful," Marcus said, coming up and slinging his arm around her shoulder.

"Thank you, Marcus, may I return the compliment?"

Marcus laughed and squeezed her shoulders. "Never let them see your fear, Lion," he murmured as they boarded.

"Never."

She watched as Val Royeaux became a tiny city and then a dot and finally just an illusion of a memory.

"What price victory?" she asked the wind as the ship sailed on. A tear gathered in the corner of her eye and slowly rolled down the groove between her nose and her cheek, curving along her lip until it finally dripped off her chin.

A single tear and no more.


	28. Chapter 28

**Where the Griffins Roost**

They arrived in Jader early in the morning, two days after leaving Val Royeaux. Leonie barely had time to visit with Ceres. He was looking gray and so thin she could make out the angular shape of his bones through his robe. She hugged him as if he were made of spun glass, afraid that she would crush him altogether. Her tears refused to fall, and rightfully so, as his was an honorable death given freely in service. Riordan was out in the field but she left him a note, explaining where she was going and asking him to look after Duncan should anything happen. It was all she could do as Tremain stayed near her the entire visit.

They sailed that same evening, Ceres standing on the dock, looking fragile and lost. Marcus stood beside her, arm around her waist. She leaned into him and let her tears fall once they were far out to sea. When Tremain offered condolences, she brushed them aside with an angry wave of her hand.

"Do not," she said coldly and made her way to the cabin she and Marcus shared.

Three days later they arrived in Cumberland. Had Leonie not been in such a thunderous mood, she might have appreciated the sights of the city more. She only saw that it was a very large and sprawling city with beautifully sculpted statues of heroic people everywhere she looked. She did see the glittering, golden domes and spires of the College of Magi but only because Marcus pointed them out with something akin to awe in his voice. What captured her attention were the three Wardens who were waiting for them as their ship docked. They stood beside a number of horses, including one that was larger and heavier than the others and obviously a packhorse, fully loaded.

"We will be leaving immediately. We should be able to cover quite a bit of ground before sunset."

Leonie turned to Tremain, her look grim. "And the additional Grey Wardens? Are you afraid you will not be able to handle me?"

Tremain paled a bit but his eyes narrowed. "You are making this so much more difficult than it needs to be, Leonie. Why not just accept the fact and let go of the anger?"

"You do not know me very well if you think I can so easily do such a thing, Tremain."

He sighed, his voice resigned when he spoke, "No, I don't Leonie. And it appears that won't be rectified on this trip, which is a shame. You're going to need friends in Weisshaupt and I would consider it an honor to be such a friend."

Turning away from him to gather her pack and kit, she only said softly, "I have to trust a person before they can become a friend, Tremain."

She took one last longing look at the _Enchanted Mist_, wishing she could walk right back up the gangplank and take the vessel to its next port of call but of course Tremain was following too closely and Marcus was beside her. Short of jumping into the Minater River, she would have to continue pressing forward.

She was given a sturdy mount with a soft mouth and a gentle gait. She learned that the three Wardens who greeted them were there only to hand over the horses and supplies as prearranged with Tremain. They were courteous and curious. She gave them a polite nod as she mounted. Before she could be properly introduced, they were off, at Tremain's command. She shot him a glare but he was intent on controlling his mount.

As they made their way out of the city, she saw huge group of very ornate buildings clustered against a hillside. "What are those buildings? They are not houses, surely? They look much too small."

"That's a necropolis. The Nevarrans don't cremate their dead. They preserve them and seal them in tombs. The buildings you see are a group of such tombs," Tremain explained. "Sometimes they are as big as a palace, with bathing rooms and gardens and even ballrooms. They're quite fantastic."

Leonie tried not to show her distaste at the thought of flesh and bone preserved in elaborate tombs as large as the Imperial Palace. She knew that the Wardens who killed the archdemons in previous Blights were enshrined in Weisshaupt but that was different. To have whole cities of the dead just seemed morbid and against the natural order of things. The practical part of Leonie thought it was also a tremendous waste of money to be spent on someone who could not appreciate it.

As they traveled along the Imperial Highway, Tremain angled his horse next to hers. Marcus rode ahead and Tremain and Leonie slowed their horses to a walk.

"I'm sorry, if that matters to you at all," he began and she could hear the sincerity in his words.

"I know this, Tremain. Yet you are not sorry enough to let me return to Orlais."

"I can't. You follow your orders from Bertran, I follow mine for Eldrond. He feels you can be of great help to the Wardens by coming to Weisshaupt. He's probably right."

Leonie shook her head slowly. "If you had asked me to come to Weisshaupt rather than taking me by force, I might very well have come willingly. Perhaps not on the timetable you wished, but I would have seen it as my duty. But you gave me no such choice, Tremain. I have always trusted you and you betrayed that trust."

She glanced at him after a moment of silence had passed. His face was pale and beads of sweat were gathering along his forehead. He looked ill. His taint was quickening in his blood. How much longer did he have before his Calling? Melancholy set in as they rode along in silence. She couldn't even bring herself to survey her surroundings. She was homesick and frightened and tired.

"You must know this is wrong, Tremain," she said finally, after they had ridden in silence for an hour.

"Do I?" he asked, and the conciliatory tone of before was replaced by a coolness, a wariness.

"You drank my blood willingly. You chose to experiment with your life. I do not have such a choice, yes? You and Fiona will do as you see fit, regardless of how it may affect me. You had freedom of will, I do not."

He gave an unhappy chuff of laughter. "Well, you're right there. I did choose to experiment and I'm dying now faster than I was before. But you might very well hold the key to extending a Warden's life. Why wouldn't you want to do that if you could?"

"And in so doing, I lose my life? Or create something that is sentient but neither darkspawn nor human? Have you even thought of the consequences? Are we so sure that the Architect is a darkspawn? You have so little knowledge yet you want to act as though you understand," Leonie concluded with a shake of her head. "It is foolish and dangerous, this course you have set us upon."

Silence settled between them and Leonie was sure he was considering her words very carefully. She could only hope.

On the third day of their trek along the Imperial Highway, they came to the Silent Plains within the Tevinter Imperium. Not a living thing, not plant, nor tree, nor bird, nor animal, nor insect lived on the Silent Plains. The land was dead, a brown mass of death that extended east and west and north, stretching out lifeless brown fingers toward the green forests just beyond reach. The wind was high and mournful as it swept through, taking nothing with it as it hurried across the lifeless plains. Blights, so severe that even now, hundreds of years later, nothing could grow. She thought she understood now why Tremain had brought her this way, rather than taking the shorter path through Perendale and north through the pass in the Blasted Hills. He wanted to remind her why she was a Grey Warden. It took an entire day, from dawn to dusk, to pass out of the Silent Plains. Leonie and Marcus had ridden very close together, not talking. It was a haunting, forlorn place.

The nights in camp were quiet, not at all like the usual carousing they did in the field. Marcus and Leonie kept to themselves except at meal time. They sat with the other Wardens but seldom talked about anything and as soon as the meal was over, they retired to their tent. Leonie curled up against Marcus each night, sharing body warmth and comfort. Their homesickness grew with each passing day. They clung to each other trying to give the other courage and some days it almost worked.

Five days after leaving the ruin of the Silent Plains, they crossed into the hell known as Anderfels. Nothing could have prepared Leonie for the utter desolation of the countryside. The Silent Plains looked like paradise when compared to Anderfels. The steppes were barren, lifeless, twisted by a wind that howled, screeching along the desiccated plains. Even when they came across a clump of trees, the trees were gnarled and bent, stooped by the weight of the winter snows and sharp, biting winds. And it was freezing cold. Leonie gratefully accepted the fur lined cloak that Tremain handed her their first night in Anderfels. It was the first time in a week they had exchanged more than a nod. When they started off the next morning, he rode beside her and Marcus went ahead to speak with the others.

"You look pale, Tremain. Are you feeling well?" Leonie asked, concerned by his appearance. His eyes were dark and sunken, his skin ashen.

"I – I have felt better, I admit. Can you feel it?" he asked dolefully.

Leonie had been deliberately not reaching out to feel his taint, but she did so now and recoiled, nearly unseating herself. Dark, viscous taint crawling along her blood, her mind. She had felt something similar, the first time she had dreamt of the Architect. Was it true then? Was this her destiny as well?

She reached out a hand and took his, squeezing firmly. Even through the thick fur gloves, she hoped he felt her contact, hoped it helped him somehow.

"I'm sorry, Tremain."

"Don't be. It was my own stupidity that led me here," he answered and they rode along in silence again for some time. Leonie wasn't sure what to say. It was his own stupidity but she didn't want to see him die because of it. And she certainly didn't want the same fate.

"How long ago did you drink the blood?" she asked finally.

"Not quite six months now. I should have ten years left. At this rate, I'll be lucky to make five months," he said quietly, his voice echoing sadly on the wind.

"I do not think more of my blood will help, Tremain. I am not sure why you think it will. If a little of my blood sped it up, how can more do anything but bring about your demise even more quickly?"

"I don't know. I suppose Fiona and Eldrond are grasping at straws at this point. But I won't let them drain you, Leonie. I won't let them kill you," he said firmly and it was a promise she knew he wanted to keep. She just wasn't sure he would be able to.

Finally, they left the Imperial Highway and entered a small mountain range that was as twisted and gnarled as the rest of the landscape. Snow was falling by the time they made it through the mountain pass, so thick it was clinging to her eyelashes and stinging her face. Once they were through the mountains the snow tapered off and the pace of the horses quickened.

In the distance, towering over the plains was a stark white edifice with soaring white towers and spires, stretching up to the sky. As they approached she saw that part of the soaring white towers were actually jagged fingers of another small mountain range.

"The griffins used to roost in those mountains," Tremain yelled above the wind. She nodded to let him know she understood. Griffins. Gone these two hundred years but what a wonderful sight it must have been to see the Wardens arriving on the backs of snowy white griffins, their armor gleaming, their weapons drawn. And now, here they were, kidnapping their own kind.

"That's Weisshaupt," he called, pointing to the building looming ever closer.

She should have been thrilled to finally see the great Weisshaupt Fortress, home of the Grey Wardens for hundreds of years. She should be squirming in her saddle with excitement, not shrinking down in fear. It was impressive, towering above the plains, huge wings on either side, stretching like a bird coming to roost. Or a griffin. It was another hour before they finally arrived at the entrance to the fortress. The guards swung the gates open and as they clanged shut behind them, Leonie wondered if she would ride back through them.

With a shiver, she dismounted and slowly climbed the wide steps, entering the mighty Weisshaupt Fortress, home of the Grey Wardens.


	29. Chapter 29

**A Lion Amongst the Griffins**

She was lost. Again. Or perhaps still. She wasn't quite sure. Her room was in the northwest corridor on the third floor in the second wing. She needed to find the southwest corridor on the first floor in the main hall. It should be easy. It was not. Now she was stuck somewhere between her room and the main hall, where she was supposed to be meeting First Warden Eldrond. Tremain had told her there were over one thousand Wardens in the Anderfels and just under half of them resided in Weisshaupt. So it was surprising to Leonie that she could not find a single soul to help her.

She should have waited for Marcus. He would have been able to follow the directions. She should have waited for Marcus because he was probably feeling as lost and alone as she was. She should send him back to Orlais. He didn't need to be here. It might even be dangerous for him. She had been selfish to bring him along.

"Leonie, there you are," Tremain said, startling her into a small yelp of surprise.

And that told her what a sad state of affairs her life had become that she was actually glad to see him. "You need to hand out maps when new people arrive here," she chided, taking his proffered arm. "I am sure I am not the only one who has ever been lost in these cavernous wings."

"I will be posting a junior Warden outside your room from now on. He can escort you wherever you need to go."

Leonie stopped walking and looked up at Tremain. "That sounds very much like a guard, Tremain. You say he will escort me where I need to go. What about where I want to go? Will he escort me there as well? Or do you think I will try to escape?"

"Won't you?" he asked softly, his eyes intent on her.

She lowered her head. "Escape how? And for what purpose? To wander the Anderfels until I freeze to death?" she asked, her voice cutting.

"You're a very resourceful woman, Leonie. If you want to leave here, to escape, I have no doubt you'd be successful," he replied seriously.

Was he encouraging her to try and escape? With winter mere months away she would have to do so soon if she was to survive.

"Let us hope that I will have no need to escape, yes?" she finally replied.

"Yes, let's hope that is the case," he responded as they finally entered the main hall. Marcus and Fiona were waiting outside the First Warden's office. They were chatting quietly as Leonie and Tremain approached.

The First Warden was not what she expected. She hadn't realized she had expectations until she saw the man and realized he was completely different than her mind had pictured him. He was slight and balding, his fair hair wispy. He was almost timid looking, his faded blue eyes flitting nervously from one to another. He looked washed out and not at all commanding in any way, until he spoke. His voice was resonant and sonorous, completely at odds with his looks and demeanor.

"Welcome to Weisshaupt, Warden Leonie. We are honored by your visit," he said, rising from his desk and extending a hand. She eyed it warily, refusing to touch it.

"This visit is not by my choice, First Warden Eldrond. Do not pretend otherwise," she began heatedly but he waved her words away.

"Of course you have a choice, Warden Leonie. We all have choices, don't we, Tremain?"

Tremain glanced first and Leonie and then at the First Warden before giving an unhappy nod of agreement. The First Warden frowned a bit but the frown was replaced quickly by a wide grin.

"It seems you have doubts about that, Tremain. Has the Lion of Orlais ensnared you? Caused you to question your true loyalties?"

"Please do not play games, First Warden. Tell me what it is you need of me so that I may be on my way home again as quickly as possible," Leonie broke in, her anger no less sharp, but her tone softened.

His eyes settled on her, narrowing thoughtfully. "We need some time to discover your secrets, Leonie. Great things are within you, things that will forever change us all, make us more powerful in our fight against the darkspawn."

"Or perhaps what is within me will bring about our deaths more quickly, First Warden. Is it not so with Second Warden Tremain?"

Fiona stepped forward, her voice quiet and even as she spoke. "We can't know what is possible until we have had time to study you."

"Ah, so I am, indeed, a laboratory test subject? You will take as much from me as you can and then what? Discard me? Kill me?"

Fiona and Tremain both paled at her words, at the cold venom in her voice.

"What you do is for the greater good, Leonie. In death, sacrifice," the First Warden said. And then, in an unnaturally jovial voice he added, "But come, there is no need for concern. We look after our brothers and sisters. All will be well."

Leonie snorted derisively. "You no longer know your brothers and sisters. You, in your fortress, so far away from anything even remotely human. You have long forgotten the true measure of duty and sacrifice."

His eyes narrowed, his mouth a firm, tight line of anger. "You will do well, Warden Leonie, to remember who your superiors are. Your stay here can be as comfortable and enjoyable as you make it."

Leonie felt Marcus stiffen beside her, could feel the anger crawling along him in a subtle magical dance. She put a restraining hand on his arm. "I will do as you say, First Warden, but I ask that my friend return to Orlais. There is no reason he needs to be here."

"No! Leonie, I won't leave you here at the mercy of these monsters who call themselves Wardens," Marcus exclaimed, shaking her hand off.

"I think that can be arranged. We have a group leaving for Cumberland in two days. They are traveling on to the Free Marches but your friend can make his way to Orlais easily enough from there."

"Lion, you know I can't go home without you."

"Yes you can, Marcus. I am ordering you to," Leonie replied firmly. She couldn't let him stay, and should he reach home quickly enough, he could let the others know just exactly what the Weisshaupt Wardens had planned for her. Even if they were too late to do anything about it, they could at least break off ties, warn Wardens in other countries just how barbaric and dangerous Weisshaupt had become.

"Well, now that we are in agreement, I suggest Fiona show you to the laboratory. The sooner we begin, the sooner you will be on your way home."

Outside the office, Marcus grabbed her arm and spun her to face him, his face twisted with fury. "You don't believe for one minute that I'm going to leave you here alone, Leonie. I didn't get saddle sores the size of sovereign pieces just to turn around three days later and go home."

Leonie pried his fingers from her arm and frowned at him. "You have to let them know, Marcus. If something happens to me, do you really think they will just let you leave to tell the story?" she whispered, moving away from Fiona and Tremain. "You have to get word to Didier about this and he needs to let the Commanders in other nations know."

"I don't want to leave you, Lion," he said unhappily, shoulders slumping.

"I know, my friend. I know that you would give your life for mine, but I cannot let that happen," she whispered, leaning into him for a brief moment, gathering strength from him.

"Now, let us go, Fiona. Take me to this new prison of mine and tell me what it is you plan to do," she said briskly and followed the elf mage as she wound her way through the vast, empty corridors of the fortress.

The laboratory was large, filled with tubes and vials and flasks and beakers and the bubbling of concoctions. Brightly lit and not at all as foreboding as Leonie had imagined.

Fiona and Tremain found chairs for them and they sat in a small circle. Fiona, her dark eyes grave, began to speak. "I had no idea this is what Eldrond had planned, Leonie. I would not have condoned it."

"Very fine words, Fiona, but I am here and you do plan these experiments using my blood so you will have to pardon me if I am skeptical, yes?" Leonie responded, her tone far less aloof than she had wanted. There was just a hint of anxiety in her words and she cleared her throat, sat up straighter in her chair, challenging Fiona to refute her statement. She did not.

"We'll be careful not to draw too much blood too soon, Leonie. Other than the discomfort of drawing the blood, you shouldn't feel any pain."

"You did not mention the part where I am not free to leave, should I so desire," Leonie shot back, struggling to keep her feet planted firmly. Her instinct was to run, to find a place to hide and make a plan to escape. She kept her features carefully blank. They would not have the satisfaction of seeing her inner turmoil. Montran had taught her that.

"I'll take two vials of blood today and then Tremain can take you back to your room. You'll have two days to recover before I take more. What you do those two days is entirely up to you."

"And how long will this go on? Weeks? Months? Years?" Leonie asked quietly, her voice even.

"As long as Eldrond requires it, of course," Fiona responded with an unreadable expression.

"I have a wonder, Fiona, if you will permit?"

Fiona stiffened but nodded once.

"If you had a child, say a son," and here Leonie paused, watching as the elf mage flinched. _Ah, good, she is not made completely of unyielding stone_. "And this son was a Grey Warden would you allow such a thing to happen to him?"

Leonie watched Fiona's face pale and then two bright red spots of color found her cheeks, her eyes dropping to her hands, folded in her lap. "It's difficult for me to say, Leonie. I have no child."

Leonie had expected the answer, she had not expected the reaction and it heartened her to see the other woman did have deep emotions hiding behind her carefully constructed façade. Another weapon she could use, another possible ally.

* * *

"Be safe, Marcus. Do not let your temper get the better of you. You cannot help me if you are dead," Leonie instructed, holding his hands tightly in hers, squeezing them in reassurance.

"I still think I should stay, Lion," Marcus said miserably.

With a brief hug, he turned and swung into the saddle, adjusting his fur cloak and nodded to the men beside him. With a final salute he was gone. Leonie shivered, standing in the cold courtyard, watching until the gates clanged shut and she could no longer see him. Tremain came up to her, holding out his own cloak and she took it gratefully, surreptitiously wiping away tears. Three weeks home and at least three weeks back if he gathered enough men to come for her. Six weeks and she might be free.

Tremain led her through the halls to the laboratory. Leonie was concentrating on how many steps it took and how many turns. When she got back to her room, she would pull open her journal and continue mapping the fortress. She could not afford to get lost if a means of escape presented itself.

"After Fiona draws my blood, can you take me to the training rooms?" Leonie asked casually as they continued along the hallways. She had worn her plate armor today, polished to a high gloss the night before. Her dagger scabbard hung from her belt, her sword swinging gracefully at her hip. Wearing her armor and weapons gave her a sense of power her travel clothes had not.

"Certainly, Leonie. I'll even spar with you, if you'll permit me to?"

She laughed. "You wish to be beaten by a woman in front of your troops, Tremain?"

"Such confidence, Leonie," he responded with a smile as they arrived at the lab.

Fiona was withdrawn and distant but she took the blood and healed the cut, giving Leonie some soft cider and a pastry afterward.

"Are you working on a cure for Tremain or a Joining for new Wardens?" Leonie finally asked as she ate her pastry.

"Both. Eldrond hopes to find a way to prolong his life because he is so near his Calling."

"But you already had your Calling, didn't you?" Leonie asked quietly, watching Fiona's face pale again.

"Yes."

"Duncan didn't though, did he? Do you suppose it was because his taint was still so new?"

Fiona looked down at her hands and it was long moments before she looked back up and met Leonie's eyes. "That's our best guess."

The delicate features crumpled and she lowered her head into her hands. "I would trade with him if I could. I know how much you mean to each other. He has everything to live for," she whispered and the bitterness fell away, showing Leonie a woman who was vulnerable and lonely.

"As do you, yes? You have a son, do you not?" Leonie asked quietly, putting her arm around the older woman.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Duncan told you that."

"It must have been very difficult, giving him up like that. I can only imagine the pain it has given you."

Fiona nodded and swiped at her tears. "Now, you've rested long enough. Go and have your sparring match with Tremain," she said brusquely and Leonie understood that the conversation was over and not to be discussed again. But she was one step closer to understanding Fiona. Perhaps in understanding, she would gain her freedom.

For the first time in days she actually saw a large group of the Weisshaupt Wardens. There were at least thirty in the large training room and a dozen or more in the sparring arena. The silence, when she entered, was deafening. Tremain grinned and introduced her. Most of the men nodded or bowed stiffly. A few glared at her and turned their backs. Not surprising. They were probably Anders, who seemed to think women were better suited to other pursuits.

Tremain was agile for so tall a man and Leonie was sweating profusely as they sparred. At times she was sure he would easily win but as agile as he was, he had not fought an unpredictable enemy in a long time, judging by his moves and Leonie finally defeated him. They were both panting and laughing at the end, she standing above him, sword tip at the hollow of his neck. She reached down a hand and helped him to his feet.

The men who had gathered to watch did not cheer and carry on as her men would after such a duel, they merely went back to their own sparring sessions, an eerie reminder of how distant these men were from life in the field. How little they cared for her or anyone, it seemed.

Her longing for Duncan and home began to gnaw away at her appetite and sleep. In the following weeks, weight began to melt off her as she continued her sparring with Tremain or another, younger man named Magnus, who seemed to be Tremain's successor. Which meant he would probably be First Warden eventually. She began to talk to him, drawing him out.

He was a sturdy man, of middle height and average looks, with a warrior tail of bright golden brown hair and eyes that some days looked green with brown flecks and other days looked brown with green flecks. He came from Hossberg and had been a field Warden for four years before coming to Weisshaupt. There was hope, in Leonie's opinion, that he was young enough to remember what a Warden was supposed to be.

In her third week, Fiona became concerned about her loss of weight. "You look terrible, Leo. Doesn't the food agree with you?"

"I'm just not hungry," Leonie admitted, rubbing her eyes, feeling stretched and thin.

"I'm going to stop drawing blood for a few days. You need to force yourself to eat."

She went to the dining hall that evening and tried to eat but the food stuck in her mouth like a lump of clay and she couldn't bring herself to swallow it. Rising from the table, she hurried out of the room, looking for somewhere to spit out the food. Tremain was there, holding a small bowl, his face grim.

"Spit it out before you choke yourself," he instructed. She gratefully did.

"You look worse than I do, Leo."

"Is it my taint?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"No, but I think you need to let a healer examine you."

The next morning Tremain took her to the infirmary. The healer was surprisingly friendly, not cold and distant as many of the others were. His name was Pendric and he was a middle aged man with a warm smile. He asked her a series of what seemed like unrelated questions. How much sleep did she get, when was the last time she had been ill, and on and on until she was ready to get up and walk away. Tremain kept a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her in her seat. Finally Pendric looked at Tremain.

"You need to leave, Tremain. The young woman deserves some privacy for the examination," he ordered.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Pendric turned to her, his expression serious. "You are being poisoned."

Leonie fought back the urge to laugh at the absurdity of his pronouncement. "I do not understand," she said finally.

"Nothing that will kill you, just something that suppresses your appetite, keeps you in a weakened state. I suspect it is to keep you biddable and too weak to try an escape. All the more reason for you to do so soon," he warned.

She stumbled along the corridors with Tremain, fighting a blurry, nebulous panic whose wings were beating in her stomach. Someone was poisoning her? One of her brothers? It seemed ludicrous. And yet there was a maddening logic to it. She had to get away. But how? And was there anyone she could trust to help her escape?

As soon as she entered her room, she saw a package on her bed. It had obviously been opened and then resealed but she picked it up and sat on the bed, fighting tears. With trembling fingers she unwrapped the package, and then began to laugh. Anyone who passed by her room probably thought she was mad, her laughter loud and long and clearly hysterical.

The package contained a peacock blue wrapper.


	30. Chapter 30

**All Wrapped Up**

Leonie buried her face in the wrapper, sniffing deeply, as if somehow she could smell Riordan on it. Of course she couldn't but the hope it gave her was enough. She would not be forgotten here. Riordan was letting her know that he was with her. That they were all with her and that gave her flagging spirits a well needed boost.

There was no note with the package, or if there had been, it had been removed. She felt in the pockets but there was nothing there either. She felt a moment's disappointment before her smile returned. Along with the hope came a new strength and determination. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she danced around the room. She was not alone. She would get out of this, but not if she didn't start eating. She took the wrapper off and draped it across her bed before opening her door.

The guard was in his customary spot. He was young and tall, still all awkward angles. His face was open and coppery freckles matched the color of his hair. His name was Bledsoe, if she recalled. She turned her smile on him.

"Bledsoe, I need to talk with Second Warden Tremain. Would you please fetch him for me?"

"Of course, Warden Leonie. Please wait in your room," he said and she nodded, stepping back into her room and closing the door. She counted as she waited, marking the time it took the guard to bring Tremain back to her room. Eleven minutes later, Tremain knocked on her door. She ushered him in and shut the door.

"I need to know, Tremain. Who is poisoning me and how are they delivering it? My morning tea? The drinking water?" she asked bluntly.

He stared at her as if she had just accused him of sleeping with a shriek. She sighed. It was obvious that he knew nothing about it. "Pendric explained that my aversion to food is caused by a mild poison."

Tremain's face was white and he slumped down on her bed, head in his hands. "I had no idea, Leonie."

"You are the Second Warden, Tremain. How is it that you did not know this?"

"Eldrond has surrounded himself with like minded Wardens. I'm not privy to what they are doing," he said and she heard the shame in his words, saw it in his refusal to meet her gaze. He was a pawn in this just as she was, although he had once been willing enough to act on their behalf. She had seen his growing change of heart for weeks.

"Well the time for that is past, brother," she said firmly.

He sat up straighter and gave her a crooked smile. "I'd like the chance to make amends, Leonie. It won't save me, but at least I can take some pride in whatever time I have left."

Another thought occurred to Leonie as they sat there, trying to work out some kind of logical plan. The thought left her mouth dry. "All the blood that Fiona has collected must be contaminated from the poison. We need to go and tell her immediately," she said, her voice echoing the shock that was running through her now. "If she has used the blood on Wardens or new recruits…" she broke off, tears forming. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think about the consequences of such a thing, not wanting him to see her weakness.

They hurried along the corridors, neither speaking, wearing identical expressions of shock. Fiona looked up from her desk, frowning. "What's wrong?" she asked, stepping from around her desk.

"Did you know about the poison?" Tremain burst out, grabbing her arms and giving her a shake. She looked at him in confusion.

"Stop it, Tremain, you're hurting me."

"The poison. Did you know?" he repeated, letting her go. Leonie had thought he was in shock, she saw now that he was furious.

"I don't' know what you're talking about. What poison?" Fiona asked, rubbing her arms and giving Tremain a frosty glare.

"Leonie is being poisoned, according to Pendric. Something to weaken her, not kill her. Look at her, Fiona. How could _you_ not know?" Tremain accused, his voice shaking with anger.

"I – I didn't know, Leonie. I wouldn't have allowed that, you must know," Fiona began. Leonie batted the words aside.

"What about the blood you have drawn? It will be contaminated, yes?"

Fiona's eyes widened and she stumbled back against the desk as understanding came to her. She was speechless, her mouth agape. Leonie watched as the elf tried to gather her thoughts. Tension was oozing from all of them, making it hard to think or even breathe.

"I have not asked because I did not want to have any deaths on my conscience but I must know, Fiona. How many have died because of my blood?" Leonie was trembling and she felt Tremain's arm around her shoulder, guiding her to a chair. She sank into it and waited, twisting her hands together.

Fiona came to her and knelt by the chair, her brown eyes shimmering with tears. "This is not your fault, Leonie. You are blameless. I am the one who is to blame and I can only hope one day you can forgive me," she murmured, laying her hand on Leonie's arm.

Leonie shook her hand off, looking down at the woman. "You have not answered my question, Fiona. How many have died?"

Grief was now flowing out of Fiona, her tears running down her face unchecked. "Ten. Ten have died," she choked out.

"It is not up to me to forgive you, Fiona. Only the Maker can do that. But you have a chance to make this right. Help me escape." Leonie found she was holding her breath, waiting for Fiona's response. She couldn't do this on her own.

Fiona bowed her head, nodding. "I'll do what I can but Eldrond will just send others to bring you back."

"She's right, Leo. There are enough loyal to him that you won't be safe even if you do escape."

"And you're too weak to attempt an escape right now. The first thing we need to do is rid your body of the poison and make sure you aren't poisoned again," Fiona added. "If the poison is being given in small, daily amounts it should clear out of your system by tomorrow if you don't eat or drink anything."

"They bring tea every morning for me. I think that must be how they are managing it. I could not drink it this morning. It is still there."

"Tremain, take this vial and bring me some of that tea," Fiona said quietly and there was a quiet resolve about her that Leonie took comfort in. Hope, now planted deep within her, continued to grow.

"Is there nothing you can do for Tremain?" Leonie asked softly after he left. Fiona shook her head.

"I have come to believe that the answers you seek are not in my blood. Or if they are, we do not have the knowledge to understand such answers. This research, this experimentation on others must stop, Fiona. We cannot keep killing our brothers and sisters in the hope that we find a miracle cure for the taint. We become Wardens in support of a cause greater than ourselves. These ten Wardens who have died were not given the opportunity to do that."

Leonie stood and began pacing the room. Ten men. Ten men had been sacrificed for no reason at all and it was her blood that killed them. Her chest felt tight, her skin hot. How could she ever look at herself again, knowing she had been responsible for their deaths?

"Don't," Fiona warned, bitterness in her words. Leonie looked at her. "Don't start down that road, Leonie. You aren't to blame. Your blood is different but that is hardly your fault. We can't know if it's just the way your body processed the taint or if the blood you ingested was different. But neither of those possibilities was within your control."

Leonie gave an unhappy sigh. "I will try not to dwell on it now, but I cannot promise not to mourn them, to feel accountable for their unnecessary deaths."

"They were volunteers, men from Eldrond's group. They knew there were risks," Fiona said and her tone had taken on a sharper edge.

"I am the one who should have known better. I thought I could help them live longer because I went through my Calling unscathed," she confessed, her eyes glinting with fresh tears. "I've been trying for years to understand the magic used to do it, to find out why I survived the quickening and my Calling but nobody else has. I – I thought that with your blood I might finally understand."

Leonie shook her head, feeling pity for the older woman who had lost her own moral center through some kind of misplaced guilt. It was a lesson for them all to learn, she would have to come to terms with her own guilt over the deaths of the others. But now was not the time for that. She went to Fiona and hugged her. Now was the time to plan and they could not do it if they were being swallowed whole by their guilt.

Tremain returned with the vial before Leonie could say anything else. She wasn't sure what she could say. She sank back into her chair, exhausted, closing her eyes. Tremain sat down next to her and she found a certain comfort from his nearness. She reached out a hand and he took it, gently rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

"Here, drink this, Leonie. It should counteract the poison."

Leonie's eyes snapped open and she sat up, taking the potion that Fiona offered. She looked at it nervously. Was it a ploy or was Fiona really willing to help her? She met Fiona's eyes squarely, staring intently before nodding. She would have to trust her instincts now, she would have to believe that Fiona and Tremain were willing to help her. She downed the potion with a grimace.

"Let me take you back to your room, Leonie. You look as tired as I feel. Let's take today to think and we'll meet here tomorrow to strategize," Tremain suggested and she nodded. The weeks of not eating properly were draining her reserves and the thought of sleeping was inviting.

They walked back to her room and Tremain opened her door for her. He reached out and stroked her cheek lightly, smiling softly. "Thank you," he said and bent down, kissing her forehead before turning and striding down the hallway.

Leonie plopped down on the bed, pulling the wrapper around her. She rubbed her hands along the sleeves, closing her eyes. Her finger snagged on a loose thread and she plucked at it, frowning. The stitching at the cuff was coming undone. Her frown deepened, as she pulled the loose thread harder and a small slip of vellum fluttered to the floor. Her heart skipped several beats and even though she knew she was alone, she found herself casting a quick look around the room, as if expecting someone to be watching. She reached down with trembling fingers and picked up the paper.

_I bought this from a Rivaini merchant on my latest travels. He had ten of them plus the one I bought. He had it hidden behind the others but the full moon was so bright it was as plain as day. I am sure you are silently admiring it. No reason to wait to try it on unless you need to. R._

Leonie read the note over and over. There were clues in it, she knew. She understood that Riordan and Duncan were traveling to Weisshaupt. Was he saying there were ten others with them or eleven? She sank on the bed, puzzling over the note again. Full moon? What did that have to do with anything? When would they be here? She rubbed her forehead, pacing the room. And stopped. Going over to her brazier, she tossed the note inside, watching it burn. They were coming by the Imperial Highway, the Silent Plains. If she escaped before they arrived, she was to take that route back, to meet up with them. But when?

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she began to understand the message. She opened her door. "I am sorry to trouble you, Bledsoe, but I need to see Tremain again."

"Yes, Warden Leonie. Right away. Please wait in your room," he said cheerfully and went off. She paced her small room, mentally putting together the pieces of Riordan's message.

"Leonie, I thought you were rest…" he trailed off looking at her obvious excitement. "What is it?" he asked, shutting the door behind him.

"When is the next full moon, Tremain?"

"What? What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, frowning at her. He clearly thought she was losing her mind and she chuckled. She had not lost her mind, she had finally found her mind.

"When is the next full moon? It is important, I assure you," she said, coming and gripping his arm.

"Ten days, I think. Yes, ten days. Why?"

"Because Riordan and Duncan and Maker knows how many other Wardens are on their way here. They will enter Weisshaupt the night after the full moon, so eleven days. Or rather nights. If we are to prevent a war between the Wardens, I need to escape before then."

Tremain's face paled. "How do you know that?" But even as he asked, he glanced at the wrapper still lying across her bed. He grinned and looked back at her, his blue eyes alight. "You have some very loyal friends."

She returned his grin with one of her own. "And I consider you one of those, Tremain. Now we must plan, yes?"

"Agreed. Any ideas?"

Leonie's grin turned mischievous. "Of course, I have not served in Her Imperial Highness Empress Celene's court without learning a few tricks, my friend."

"So what do you suggest?" he asked, pulling up a chair. He straddled it, looking up at her. She saw her own hope reflected back at her in his eyes.

"A coup, my friend. We are going to erode Eldrond's support and stage a coup."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **_I wanted to thank everyone for their very thoughtful reviews and also give a shout out to Enaid Aderyn for reminding me about spy-holes and such. In my mind Tremain and Leonie already knew of that possibility but I hadn't thought to actually write anything about them until her reminder, so thank you!_

* * *

**Lovers and Leverage**

"A coup? As in a rebellion?" Tremain asked, his voice rising slightly on the last word.

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Of course we will have to find out secrets and do a bit of spying, perhaps a little persuasion," she said with a reassuring smile. "It will be fine, Tremain. You shall see."

"Spying? Persuasion? You mean blackmail?" he asked heavily. He ran a hand through his hair. clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Leonie sat beside him, her smile fading. "I do not call it blackmail, I call it leverage," she replied firmly. "It is the only way I can see us leaving this place alive or at the very least, with a minimum of bloodshed."

"We'll have to be very careful. There are too many places in here where talking is dangerous."

"I expect you will know those places and protect us, yes?"

"And what did you mean earlier by 'us leaving'?"

"I thought you might want to leave. It might be safer for both you and Fiona to leave now that I think about it."

"I can't imagine Fiona would leave, and there's no reason for me to leave, Leo. I'm dying," he reminded her and she saw the sadness swallow his smile.

"But not today, my friend. Today we plan," she said, squeezing his shoulder.

"If Elrond gets suspicious he'll have your room changed."

Leonie sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "Then we will work around it, yes?"

He nodded. "We will."

"Tell me about Magnus," she said, coming to roost on the edge of her bed. Having a purpose, having something to actually do was washing away her fear and her exhaustion, leaving her exhilarated. Knowing that Duncan and Riordan were only days away now gave her a resurgence of hope.

"A good Warden. He will be taking my place, or he would have been had I become First. He isn't a part of the Eldrond set. He likes you. He isn't really sure why you're here. Most of the Wardens outside Eldrond's cronies don't know why you're here, actually."

"We need to try and recruit him to our cause, yes? He will be invaluable, I think."

Leonie's mind was whirling, ideas and plans shaping and shifting and reshaping. This might actually work, she thought, elated. Tremain deciding to stay at Weisshaupt gave her an idea.

"You are still Eldrond's second, yes? He has not appointed someone else?"

"No, he hasn't. Believe it or not, I'm actually a pretty popular man," he replied with just a trace of smugness. She grinned at him. He was handsome, could charm a frog off a lily pad when he wanted to and would have made an excellent First Warden had he not fallen off the path temporarily. But he was paying a very heavy price for that fall and she wouldn't berate him any more than she already had.

"Well of course you are, Tremain. That should work in our favor, I believe."

Before he could preen too much, there was a knock on her door and they both jumped, shooting each other questioning looks.

"Warden Leonie, I have a message from the First Warden."

Leonie took a deep, steadying breath, pasted a smile on her face and opened the door. A young recruit handed her a sealed vellum and she nodded her thanks. He stood there. "I'm to wait for a reply, Warden Leonie," he explained.

Leonie closed the door and broke the seal.

_Warden Leonie, _

_I have missed your company. Please join me for a private supper this evening at 7. I will send someone for you._

_Eldrond  
First Warden_

She groaned. "He obviously already suspects something. I am to have supper with him this evening. Perhaps it is just to make sure I still have no appetite?"

"Hopefully. Are you hungry? If so, I'll try to sneak some food to you before you go."

She was touched by his thoughtfulness and squeezed his arm again. "You are not who I once believed you to be, Tremain," she said apologetically and he gave her a disarming smile.

"I was that person for a while, Leonie. That's how we got into this mess in the first place," he replied seriously.

She penned a quick reply below Eldrond's signature and without bothering to seal it, she opened the door and handed it to the recruit. He nodded and left, loping along the dark hallway. Bledsoe was still on duty and he gave her a smile that she returned before shutting the door again.

"So most of the others do not know why I'm here? Are they not curious?" she asked, coming once more to perch on her bed.

"I'm sure they are but they all learn early not to ask too many questions."

Leonie shivered. She couldn't imagine not asking questions or answering them for her fellow Wardens. The Wardens were a family, or they were supposed to be. It was no wonder the people here were so insular. Morale must be non-existent.

"Do you think we can trust Fiona?" Leonie asked reluctantly. She was not entirely sure she did trust the woman but Tremain knew her better than she and Duncan thought well enough of her.

"I do. Somehow you broke through that cynical, icy shell of hers and managed to get her to cry. That's a first."

Leonie pondered that silently for a bit, tapping her chin. "I am not sure how or why but I am relieved. Perhaps it would be best if Eldrond does not know this, yes?"

Tremain nodded and then stood. "I have a meeting to attend and a roster to set. Do you want me to bring you some food?"

"Thank you, I find I am a bit hungry," Leonie was surprised to hear herself say, even more surprised that it was true.

Leonie resisted the urge to make notes in her journal, outlining her plan. It wouldn't surprise her if someone came into her room while she was away and read it. Instead she tried to think through each idea and thought, discarding the outlandish and improbable along the way. Finally, Tremain returned and with a tap, entered.

"Here," he said, emptying his pocket. A large hunk of bread and some red apples appeared on her bed.

"Now, I'll see you later. Try not to get into any trouble," he said with a grin and left her to her feast.

The trouble with apples, Leonie reflected a short time later, were the cores. There was nowhere to hide them. With a sigh, she went over to her window and opened it, leaning out to look below. Not seeing anyone, she tossed the cores out the window.

Donning her armor, she stepped into the hall. Bledsoe had been replaced by another young recruit, a burly fellow with a hooked nose and a baleful stare. His dark hair was cut short, exposing a rather large head. He was a frightening looking man and she could not remember his name.

"Oh, good afternoon. I did not hear the changing of the guard," she said with a pert smile. _Never let them see your fear, Leonie._

"What do you need, Warden Leonie?" he asked gruffly. He did not return her smile. He did, however, cross his arms and stare at her. She sighed.

"I am feeling a bit unwell and would like to go and see Healer Pendric, if you could escort me there?"

"Follow me," he grumbled.

For a burly man, he moved with surprising speed. Leonie was practically skipping to keep up. When they arrived, he thankfully waited outside.

"I have a question for you, Pendric," Leonie said quietly.

"Yes, I imagine you want to know why I told you about the poison," he replied with a conspiratorial smile.

"Yes, that has puzzled me a great deal. You have even warned me that I need to escape. I wonder why you would take such a risk?"

"That's a fair question. I am a warden first and a healer second. What is happening in Weisshaupt makes me ashamed to be either," he said bluntly. "I don't know why you're here but I know you possess something that Eldrond wants. I don't suppose you'd tell me what that is?"

Leonie sat back in her chair, studying the mage. Finally she leaned forward and shrugged. "I find I am in no hurry to leave. I am willing to help Eldrond now."

Pendric's brows rose and he gave her a disbelieving look. "That's rather surprising. Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked suspiciously.

Leonie looked down at her clasped hands and then back up at the mage with a faint smile. "Sadly, it seems I have developed feelings for Tremain. If I can help him, I am willing to help Eldrond," she said softly with a winsome smile. "The heart is a creature with a will of its own, yes?"

"Well, in that case, I guess there is nothing more to discuss," Pendric said brusquely. He stood up and ushered her to the door.

"I thank you for your help, Pendric, and apologize if I have caused any trouble for you," she murmured and with a slight inclination of her head, she left.

Burly Warden, as Leonie came to call him, led her back to her room. When she arrived, she noticed the door was open and she hesitated, her heart thumping with nerves. An older Warden was busy packing her things. It seemed Tremain was correct. They wanted her where they could keep an eye on her at all times. If she was correct in her assessment of Pendric, Eldrond would soon have less reason to distrust her. But if her plan were to succeed, she needed to let Tremain know.

"I assume I am being moved?" Leonie asked, stepping into her room.

"Yes, Warden Leonie. First Warden Eldrond thought accommodations closer to the main hall might be more comfortable for you."

Yes, Leonie thought wryly, and make my maps in my journal totally useless. "Please thank the First Warden for his thoughtfulness," she replied serenely.

"I am sorry to trouble you," she said turning to Burly Warden. "Could you please escort me to Tremain's office?"

He made a disapproving grumble of a noise but started off and Leonie strode after him, not bothering to count the steps. Tremain looked up from his desk as soon as she entered, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"Leonie?" he asked, standing and moving around his desk. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Follow my lead," she whispered against his chest and he bent down to tip her face up to his.

"It's safe in here," he reassured against her lips. It was a gentle, friendly meeting of lips and Leonie held still in his arms until she heard a "harrumph" from behind her. She stepped back as Burly Warden closed the door, disapproval radiating from him.

"I am sorry, I do not mean to be forward, Tremain," she said, sinking into a chair.

He chuckled. "You are welcome to greet me that way any time," he teased.

"I have told Pendric that I am not planning an escape, that I have developed feelings for you. I am sure he will report such to Eldrond. And you are correct, I am being moved to the main hall. I suspect my room will not be safe for discussions."

"So you think Pendric is not what he seemed?"

Leonie pursed her lips and shook her head. "It was all a bit convenient, a bit too easy, yes?"

Tremain nodded. "So we're to be lovers?" he asked and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes. She raised a brow at him.

"I think you should let Eldrond know that you are using my feelings for you to gain my trust and cooperation. It will put you back in his good graces, yes?"

"You are very clever in a very scary way," he replied with another smile.

There was a knock at the door and Leonie leapt out of her chair, moving to Tremain's side. She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Yes?" Tremain asked and a Warden Leonie recognized as one of Eldrond's group entered.

"Yes, Dieter, what can I do for you?" Tremain asked, reaching up and capturing Leonie's hand and bringing it to his lips. Her quick intake of breath was only part play acting. He was enjoying this role entirely too much.

"The First Warden asked that you join him for supper this evening. Warden Leonie graciously accepted his invitation as well."

Dieter was a squat, bulldog of a man with small dark eyes and a heavy mustache that seemed always to need trimming. His dark hair was streaked with silver and he seemed close in age to Eldrond. He always made Leonie feel the need to wash after being in his company for more than a minute.

"Yes, of course. Was there something else, Dieter?"

"No, that was all," he said and moved to the door.

After he was gone, Leonie slapped at Tremain's shoulder. "Do not get too caught up in the role, Tremain," she scolded and he grinned, unrepentant.

"Any means necessary, Leonie," he returned.

She had created a monster, it seemed, but she laughed good-naturedly.

"I am going to have Burly Warden take me to the laboratory. Have you had a chance to talk to Magnus?"

"Yes, he is going to start talking to his most trusted friends to gauge how much support there is for this coup of yours."

Leonie sighed. It wasn't _her _coup. It was a bid to reestablish the honor of the Grey Wardens. It was _their_ coup. But she wasn't going to argue semantics. The next ten days were going to be very busy.

"Burly Warden's name is Savine," he added with a chuckle. "Although Burly Warden is an apt description."

Leonie stood up and went to the door. "I'll see you later, my love," she said loudly as she opened the door.

"I look forward to it, Lion," he responded suggestively. Leonie barely resisted rolling her eyes.

Fiona looked up from her desk and waved Savine away. He stomped out and slammed the door behind him.

"Charming man. He must have a veritable harem of adoring women," Leonie remarked sourly. Fiona's lips twitched. Leonie supposed that was as close to a smile as she would ever get from the woman.

"I wanted to ask a question about the men that volunteer. How does that work?"

"I receive a note from Eldrond with the name of the volunteer and the volunteer comes the next day."

"Have you kept these notes?"

Fiona nodded and reached into her desk, withdrawing a stack. To Leonie's relief there was no stamp or seal, just Eldrond's scrawling script. "Is there anything special about the vellum?"

"Not that I'm aware of, why?"

"I want to practice his script and then I think I will create a note in his hand with Dieter's name on it. I think Dieter will be quite unhappy that he is an unwitting volunteer." Fiona raised a brow at that but said nothing.

"I have a request, Fiona. Do not stop the experiments. Or rather, act as though you are not stopping them. Eldrond must not become suspicious of you."

"I won't take any more blood from you, Leonie. You'll need your strength if this is going to work."

"Not if, Fiona. When. We cannot fail, therefore we will not fail," Leonie promised and then left. There were so many things still to do.

Savine took her to her new quarters, a smaller room, darker and without a window. It felt more like a cell than a room and Leonie wrestled with a sudden surge of panic. Tremain came to escort her to their supper with Eldrond. She slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Leonie."

Eldrond greeted them effusively and offered them wine. His quarters were large and ornately furnished, with heavy gold damask drapes and rich dark wood. The amount of sovereigns spent on the furnishing could have armed a small country and Leonie had a hard time hiding her disgust. Even Celene was not so ostentatious in her tastes.

"I hear you two have formed an affection for each other?" he asked as they were eating.

Leonie gazed fondly at Tremain and smiled. "I admit I am surprised, First Warden. I had not expected to develop feelings for him, but the heart wants what the heart wants," she replied with another smile for Tremain. He smiled tenderly at her.

"Well, I am delighted that you have decided to stay and help with the research whatever the reason," Eldrond said jovially.

As they made their way back to her room, Tremain leaned down and under the guise of kissing her ear, whispered, "I am back in Eldrond's good graces, just as you thought I would be."

"Excellent," she whispered back and then entered her room. He stood at the door, his handsome face serious in the gloomy hall.

"Be careful, Leo," he whispered and then dropped a kiss on her forehead before turning on his heel and leaving.

The days flew by. Leonie spent an hour each morning in Tremain's office, practicing Eldrond's script. By the fourth day even Tremain couldn't tell the difference. She wrote a note to Dieter, mentioning that Fontaine, another of his cronies, was unhappy and wanted assurances that he would become the new second or he would expose Dieter's secrets. Eldrond wanted to know what secrets those might be. She signed Eldrond's name with a flourish. Tremain whistled.

"Clever and scary," he said again and slipped the note into a pile of correspondence that his attaché would deliver.

The poisoning stopped and her appetite returned with a vengeance. She assumed that Pendric had passed along their conversation to the First Warden who felt it was no longer necessary. While relieved that her instinct about Pendric was correct, she was also sorry. He could have been a powerful ally.

Fiona let the First Warden know that she was on the verge of a breakthrough and had a big announcement to make. The First Warden called for a celebratory dinner. He chose the date, but not the one that Leonie had hoped for. His dinner was scheduled the night Duncan and Riordan were due to arrive. No amount of careful manipulation could get him to change the date. It was the first time that Leonie worried about the success of the plan.

Two days before the dinner, Warden Fontaine was found dead, hanging from a rafter in his room. It was deemed a suicide. Dieter was not unhappy about it. While Leonie felt guilty about the death of a fellow Warden, she knew that with rebellion came causalities and he might be the first of more to come. She did not sleep that night.

Magnus came to Tremain's office the day before the dinner. Leonie was working on a speech and looked up, setting her quill down. His face was carefully guarded until the door was shut and then a grin split his face. "Over three hundred of the Wardens want a change. Word is continuing to spread. The numbers are greatly in our favor, my brother and sister."

Leonie shot Tremain a grin. "And you doubted me," she chastised, coming around the desk to hug him. Magnus waggled his eyebrows at that.

"So the rumor that you are lovers is true?" he asked with a leer.

"A sacrifice I willingly make," Tremain said, wrapping an arm around Leonie's waist.

The night before the dinner, she stood in Tremain's office, staring out at the full moon, knowing that this time tomorrow it would all be over, one way or the other.

"My only regret is that we could not find a way to slow your taint, Tremain," she said softly. He came to stand beside her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Don't regret it, Lion. I don't. If this is successful I will be content to take my Calling, knowing I brought some honor back to the Grey."

She reached up and squeezed the hand on her shoulder. "You are an honorable man, Tremain. I shall miss you greatly."

They stood silently, staring into the moonlit night, waiting for the new day to begin.


	32. Chapter 32

**The Grand Game**

Snow started falling in the early morning. The wind whipped and howled outside and Leonie shivered as she stood at the window in Tremain's office. Tremain came up and put his hands on her shoulders. "You look as white as that snow, Leo. Second thoughts?"

"I am concerned for Duncan and the others out in this weather. I am afraid that Eldrond will know they are coming and will try to trap them," she admitted quietly.

"I've had Magnus send a trusted group of Wardens out to warn them. I thought it would be better for them to be prepared when they arrive."

Leonie let out a breath, fogging the window. "Thank you, Tremain."

Even with one less worry, Leonie was overwhelmed with worries and what ifs. So much of their plan depended on so many different little pieces coming together at the same time. Would Magnus and the other Wardens be in the hall, armed and ready, at the right time? Would Fiona convince Dieter that he was being used by Eldrond? Would she be able to convince Eldrond that she had made progress and had a cure for the taint? Would Pendric pose a bigger problem than they had anticipated? Fiona planned on neutralizing him but how many other mages were on Eldrond's side? What if this all fell apart and Duncan, Riordan and the others rode into a trap and they were locked away or worse, killed? And what had she overlooked? Who had she trusted that she shouldn't have? If she had learned nothing else about the Grand Game, she had learned that no plan was flawless. She rubbed her forehead wearily.

"How did I get talked into this?" she wondered out loud.

Tremain laughed. "As I remember it, this whole thing was your idea. A coup? Remember?"

"Ah, but you were foolish enough to agree."

A knock interrupted any further discussion and Tremain called, "Enter!" He stood behind her still, holding her shoulders. She wasn't sure if it was to comfort her or him but she was grateful enough for the touch not to ask.

"Good morning you two," Magnus said, coming into the room. He shut the door and said quietly, "I've sent six of my men out to meet your men, Leonie. One will report back to me but the others will stay, just to be safe."

"Thank you Magnus. It eases my mind greatly. Could you let me know when your man returns? I am most anxious to hear news."

Magnus smiled sympathetically. "I imagine you are. But know that we stand with you, Leonie. There are more of us out there then you realize."

She wanted to ask if there were so many why they hadn't done something themselves but she knew why. A kicked dog does not free itself from its master.

"It would have been much easier to just kill Eldrond and his group," Magnus remarked as he poured himself some tea.

"But not as effective. There is no pride, nor honor, in killing them. Taking back what is rightfully yours, doing so with strength and courage, that is the way to restore your dignity," Leonie said with conviction and then sighed. "Listen to me. I sound just like my father," she said with a self deprecating laugh that sounded almost like a sob.

The day crept slowly onward, the snow piling up outside. She wondered if Duncan would be able to make it through the snow in time. But she knew him. He would find a way. She felt a tug of sympathy for him. He hated the cold. He would be miserable in the driving snow and howling winds. "Be safe, my Rivaini pirate," she whispered.

Tremain, Fiona and Leonie met in the late afternoon in Tremain's office to go over the final details before going their separate ways. Fiona was going in search of Dieter. It was time for him to see the note from Eldrond that he as to be the next test subject. By now, Leonie's journal entries, written to implicate Dieter in a plot to remove Eldrond, should have been read and she was expecting Eldrond to summon her. She didn't have long to wait.

"So you think that Dieter is trying to usurp my power? To become First Warden?" he began, not bothering with his usual niceties.

Leonie eyed him warily. He was up to something. She could feel it. But what? "How would you know what I think on this matter?" she finally asked, her voice low and even.

"Oh come, no games now, Leonie. You know I've been reading your journal. Isn't that why you wrote these things?" he chided, his voice slick and ominous.

Leonie's heart started galloping. Had their plan been known all along? Or was he bluffing? She met his gaze levelly and her voice, when she spoke, was a mixture of outrage and surprise. "You dare to read my private journal? Have I not done as you asked, First Warden?"

After a moment he dropped his gaze to study his steepled hands. "Then how have you come to hear of this plan of Dieter's?"

"By listening to the whispers in the dining hall and because Dieter has spoken to me on several occasions. "

Eldrond laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Oh, and what did he say?"

Leonie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I would rather not say, First Warden."

"Do you really think I am asking, Leonie? I demand that you answer me," he said, his voice hard and menacing. He was leaning forward, no pretense of warmth in him at all.

Leonie bowed her head. "He said it was a shame that you would not let me stay now that Fiona has what she needs of me, that if he became First Warden he would ensure Tremain would receive the cure and I could stay with him, here at Weisshaupt," she whispered, hoping her tone conveyed unhappiness and reluctance. She twisted her hands in her lap and glanced at him through her lashes. His face was white and pinched. He was furious and she could feel the heat of his anger.

"Thank you, Leonie. Let me assure you that Tremain will receive the benefits of Fiona's research and you will always have a home here."

Shoulders slumped in relief, Leonie raised her eyes to meet his, striving for a look of gratitude. "Thank you First Warden."

"You are dismissed, Leonie."

Bledsoe was waiting for her outside Eldrond's office. He was to escort her to the laboratory. "You look pale, Warden Leonie. Are you unwell?" he asked solicitously. She smiled at him, trying to relax her stiff muscles, to still the shaking in her hands.

"Thank you for your concern, Bledsoe. I am well enough," she finally responded and her voice almost sounded convincing. A thin trickle of sweat ran down her back and she shivered. "It is the snow, I think," she added when he looked at her again.

Looking up from her desk, Fiona dismissed Bledsoe and Leonie sank into a chair, closing her eyes. "Dieter is very unhappy. From the little I caught, he's going to challenge Eldrond tonight."

"And Eldrond believes that Dieter is going to usurp his authority."

The two women sat silently for several moments. Leonie was concerned that things were going too smoothly but she was loath to give voice to her concern, as if by doing so she would make it true. She stood up to leave and turned back to look at Fiona. Finally she spoke.

"If it does not go according to plan, I want to thank you, Fiona. Your help has been invaluable. And if something happens to me, please tell Duncan that I…" she trailed off, her voice catching.

"It will go well and nothing is going to happen to you, Leonie. You have to believe in this plan of yours or it won't work," Fiona said calmly, coming around the desk to briefly hug her.

Leonie hastily wiped an errant tear and nodded before slipping out the door to find Bledsoe, patiently waiting for her. They made their way back to her room in silence.

Dressing in the Grey Warden leather tunic and trousers, Leonie reached for her dagger and sword. She desperately wanted to wear her heavy plate but that would draw more suspicion than she wanted. She pulled on her boots and adjusted her weapons. It was time. Her hands began to shake and her eyes watered. It was time and she was too terrified to open her door. Too much was at stake and it washed over her like a tidal wave, pulling at her, threatening to overwhelm her, to pull her under and drown her.

"_You have the heart of a lion. You are brave and fierce and protective. You have more courage in your heart than all of the rest of us put together."_

Duncan's words from long ago, echoing in her head and flowing into her blood, stronger than the tidal wave of fear. She could hear his voice, feel his strength and she straightened, taking a deep calming breath. He believed in her. He had always believed in her. She opened her door and stepped into the cool, dark hallway. Savine was waiting for her.

"I am to escort you to the dining hall," he grumbled. Was he the one thing she had forgotten? The one who would unravel their scheme?

Tremain was waiting for her as she entered the dining hall, crowded to near capacity with Grey Wardens, many of them standing silently in small groups. She felt many sets of eyes on her as she and Tremain made their way to the front of the room, where a large table was set up. A low rumble of voices pressed around them as more Wardens made their way into the dining hall. Eldrond had not arrived yet. She saw Magnus signaling to her and she tugged on Tremain's arm. They made their way over to him.

Magnus bent low and spoke softly. "They should arrive within the hour. My men are guiding them and I have others manning the gate."

Fiona was at the large table, looking unruffled in her usual garb, a long skirt and a chain mail vest over a pale blouse. As she approached, Leonie thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye but when she looked, she saw nothing. Her nerves were wound tight and straining against her stomach, making her queasy.

"What do you estimate the numbers to be?" she whispered and Tremain smiled, bending to her, dropping a kiss on her cheek so he could respond.

"Four hundred, give or take," he whispered before straightening. Her palms were wet, her pulse thready.

Four hundred. And how many could she really count on? If she believed Magnus, over three hundred. Surely the others would stand down against those odds? She wet her lips and looked around again.

Tremain put an arm around her shoulders and whispered through a smile, "Deep breath, Leo. It's almost over."

Eldrond arrived with his entourage, as well as several heavily armored Wardens, their weapons gleaming in the torchlight. More filed in to take up positions behind the head table. Leonie's eyes flickered to Magnus and he gave a barely perceptible nod. He had anticipated such a move and Leonie was relieved to know he had contingency plans in place. She and Tremain took their places and Leonie reached out and held Tremain's hand. He squeezed it reassuringly.

The hum of noise died away as Eldrond stood. "My fellow Grey Wardens, we have been working for years to find a way to extend our lives so that we may continue fighting the darkspawn long after the thirty years we are given. Through Warden Fiona's dedication and Warden Leonie's sacrifices, we have found a way to do just that."

A buzz started as Wardens began to whisper to each other. Leonie wasn't able to judge the reaction to his words before he was calling her to stand, to acknowledge her. She reluctantly let go of Tremain's hand and stood. The crowd hushed.

"For over one thousand years, Grey Wardens have lived by three principles. Duty, vigilance, sacrifice. We dedicate ourselves to protecting the lands of men against a relentless horde of darkspawn as they search for an Old God. We are the last line of defense, the only ones who can kill an Archdemon and defeat a Blight. Ours is not an easy life, but one we commit fully to, sharing the dangers with our brothers and sisters, our _family_. We are Grey Wardens who live with a greater responsibility other than that to ourselves. Once we take our Joining, we become bound by that duty, by our new family, by a sense of honor in serving _all _men. It is time to honor the sacrifices of our fallen brothers and sisters. It is time to restore Weisshaupt to its rightful place as the home for _all_ Grey Wardens." Leonie hesitated before continuing.

"First Warden Eldrond would have you believe that my blood will prolong your life by curing the taint, but that is not true. Ten Grey Wardens have been sacrificed in pursuit of this, and an eleventh will die shortly. It is only Eldrond's conceit, his wish to betray that which we hold as truth, that makes him believe otherwise..."

Leonie got no further. Eldrond was up, his face livid, screaming. "Silence! I want that bitch silenced immediately!" he roared.

And then everything began to happen at once. Dieter was motioning to several of the armed guards, who then surrounded Eldrond. Eldrond's guards surrounded Dieter. Leonie felt her arm grabbed and she was being pulled by Eldrond's bodyguards. She fought to free herself and unsheathe her dagger. Tremain had his sword out, yelling something but in the confusion she couldn't hear him.

Everything became flashes, images broken by other images, time slowing, coalescing, spiraling away.

The sounds of battle, steel clashing with steel, voices raised filled the hall. Magnus was moving forward, a large wave of men pressing alongside him, behind him, weapons drawn. Another group, smaller but no less armed, was moving in their direction. She saw Tremain, standing taller than the others, raise his sword. Still she struggled against her captor, finally kicking out at him and when his grip loosened, she freed her dagger and surged into the crowd.

Dieter and Eldrond were grappling over the vial. Fiona was in the crowd, somewhere. Pendric was somewhere out there as well and Leonie prayed that Fiona found him before he found her. It was impossible to know, the crush of the crowd carrying her away from Fiona and Tremain, away from Dieter and Eldrond. Panic flared, the beating wings of a terrified bird in her stomach. A lion. She was a lion. She had no time for panic. Deep breaths. Bodies crushing her, suffocating her, where was everyone?

A hand on her shoulder, pulling at her and she almost lost her footing in the sea of men. Where was Duncan? Where was Tremain? Leonie fought to see over the heads of the men who encircled her. Were they protecting her or trying to capture her?

A piercing pain, a slice deep in her shoulder. Hot and sharp. The tang of blood beginning to seep, dripping down her side. She struggled to turn, to see who had stabbed her. Savine and Bledsoe were behind her and she blinked the sweat from her eyes. Savine was moving in to protect her, to take the next thrust from Bledsoe's sword. It was Bledsoe. The unknown, the unplanned for was Bledsoe and it broke her heart to see Savine fall limply to the ground. She brought her dagger up, not sure where she could move in the crowd, to avoid Bledsoe's thrust but he was falling down, the look of surprise and shock on his face almost comical. She stared down at his crumpled body. He had fallen across Savine in a final embrace and when she looked up again, it was to find Duncan reaching for her.

"Stand down! All of you stand down!" she heard Tremain shout over the chaos. His voice was strong and commanding.

"As the Second Warden, I hereby strip First Warden Eldrond of rank and privilege for crimes against his fellow Wardens! You will listen to me and drop your weapons!"

She was in Duncan's arms then and the noise was receding, her focus solely on the man who held her. His lips were finding hers, and she wished she could feel them but she was numb, her mind dimming. All she could think was how red the blood on his beautiful armor was, wondering whose blood it was. She smiled up at Duncan, reached to caress his cheek and left a smear of blood on it. Where was the blood coming from? Why was it so cold?

Maker, she was so tired. Duncan was holding her and maybe it would be alright if she closed her eyes for just a moment.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: **_I apologize for not having my usual daily updates. For some reason I was just emotionally drained after I finished writing the last chapters of "Journey into Madness" and had trouble concentrating on Leonie and Duncan. I didn't want to lose their voices so I had to step back. Thank you for your patience. _

**Aftermath**

A fluttering of eyelashes that seemed too heavy, pressing on her lids and refusing to allow her to open her eyes. A strangled gurgle of effort and her eyes slowly opened. Duncan was smiling down at her.

"Well, it's about time you woke up," he said dryly. Leonie reached up a weak hand and cupped his cheek. The tickling scrape of his beard reassured her that he was not a dream.

"Nnng," she whispered and frowned. Her tongue seemed broken. She tried again. Duncan was chuckling, his brown eyes alight with amusement.

"Perhaps a bit of water?" he asked, holding a glass up to her lips.

Leonie drank greedily. Her stomach growled and she heard more laughter and realized that Riordan was nearby. Her eyes roamed the room. There was a crowd around her and a ripple of unexpected shyness went through her. She closed her eyes. What in the Maker's name was everyone doing in her room?

Her eyes flew open. "Marcus?" she croaked.

"Yes, Marcus. The one you sent away," he scolded, moving into view. His arms were folded and he gave her a stern look. He was gaunt and worn looking but alive and unexpected tears crawled along her skin. She felt Duncan's calloused thumb brush them away.

"Everyone out, let the poor girl gather her thoughts," Fiona instructed, all but clucking like a mother hen. That was a surprising change. Leonie blinked and closed her eyes again. Too many people.

Leonie heard the sounds of scuffling and shifting and a door clicking shut. She opened her eyes and found Duncan watching her, still smiling in amusement.

"You continue to ride to my rescue. Someday I will return the favor," she whispered. He leaned down and kissed her softly but she insisted on more. It was some time later that he leaned back.

"It seems your time at Celene's court was well spent," Duncan commented and chuckled again. "The mischief you get up to, Lion," he added with a rueful shake of his head.

"Our coup? It was successful?"

"Quite successful, it seems."

She nodded in relief and then looked away as fresh tears began to track along the path of the old. She licked her dry lips. "How many – how many died?"

"Four."

Leonie winced. She had hoped for less. "I suppose that is not so bad," she finally said unhappily, looking away. "Savine?" she asked quietly.

"In the infirmary. He should be on his feet in the next day or two."

"It is so odd. I thought Savine was one of Eldrond's cronies. He was always so unpleasant. But he saved my life. As did you," she added, looking at him again. He was tired and his dark skin was a bit pale. She reached out and touched his cheek again, reveling in the strength that flowed from him.

"And Tremain?" she asked nervously.

"Organizing a new chain of command within Weisshaupt," he answered shortly.

"Thank the Maker," Leonie whispered fervently, relief strong in her voice and expression.

And then the tears came in earnest and she was sobbing into his shirt. "I was so scared, Duncan. I was so afraid I would never see you again," she whispered brokenly. He continued to stroke her back and let her cry.

"And I have taken you away from your duties in Ferelden again. Do you not ever get tired of me?" she asked, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

"Do you get tired of me when I have to cancel visits because of my Warden commitments?" he asked quietly.

"Of course not, Duncan. Duty I understand. This was not duty. Tremain could have handled this on his own, I think, for all that I am glad that I was here to help him."

Duncan growled his disapproval. "No, Lion. This was a kidnapping. I suppose I could have just stayed in Ferelden since it's actually warmer there this time of year."

He was angry. His quiet amusement from earlier had evaporated leaving behind an aloof, cool man that was simmering underneath. Not that she blamed him for being angry. She had once again plunged thoughtlessly into danger and he had come to rescue her. Leonie had seen him angry only twice and that she had angered him gave her pause.

"You need to rest, Leo. Marcus healed your shoulder but he said the muscle was damaged and may give you some pain for a few days," Duncan said abruptly and stood up. He was moving to the door and she had no idea why he was angry or what to say.

"I –I would ask that you stay, my love," she finally said in a small voice and he turned, his hand on the door.

"Are you sure it's _me_ you want?" he asked curtly. He fixed her with a dark scowl. Never had he looked more like a Rivaini pirate, fierce and angry. She hid a sudden smile behind a cough, absurdly amused by his reaction and though she knew it was inappropriate, her smile seemed happy to stay where it was.

"Yes, I am sure. Perhaps you can stay and explain to me why you are so angry?" she asked, trying desperately not to laugh at his expression. His eyebrows were knitted with one brow arched and she could imagine him on the deck of a ship, shouting orders. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and yet the smile persisted.

"I'm not angry," he denied, arms folded, glowering down at her.

"Oh, I am sorry. I mistook that smile of yours for a scowl," she replied pertly and was not quite successful at hiding her chuckle as it occurred to her that he wasn't angry, he was jealous. Of Tremain. The ridiculousness of that notion caused her to bring her hands to her mouth to push back the laughter crowding her throat. Duncan? Jealous? It seemed an impossibility but it thrilled her to suspect it was so.

"I wish you would sit down, Duncan and explain to me how happy you are then," she added, biting her lower lip to keep the smile at bay.

She struggled to sit up and patted the bed beside her. "Come, Duncan," she coaxed, smiling as she held out her hand in invitation. He sat down next to her.

"I am very interested in learning all about the fight last night but I think first, we have not greeted each other properly, yes?"

She leaned against him, resting her hand on his thigh. He looked down at it. "I heard an interesting rumor today," he said, moving his eyes from her hand to her face.

"Oh?" she asked innocently. "I have found during my stay here that there are a great many rumors floating about this fortress. What is this rumor you heard?"

His frown deepened and she reached up automatically to smooth the furrow between his dark brows. "I think you know what rumor I'm talking about, Lion."

"I am not sure I do, Duncan," she said coyly. He made a sound deep in his chest that was somewhere between a growl and a groan. She had come to recognize that as the noise he made when he was frustrated and she took pity on him.

"Unless of course you mean the one about Tremain and I being lovers," she added with a giggle. His eyebrow shot up and he moved to stand up. She tightened her hold on his thigh, forcing him to stay beside her.

"And?" Duncan asked. She ran her hand lightly along the length of his toned thigh, could feel the ripple of his muscles under the fabric of his trousers. She felt him relax a bit as she continued stroking his thigh.

"Why would I want Tremain when I have a Rivaini pirate?" she asked softly.

He got up then, quickly, and she frowned. "Duncan, I assure you…" she began but saw that his frown had been replaced with a rather suggestive smile and he was busy with the lock on her door.

"So tell me about this Rivaini pirate you're so intent on having," he said coming to stretch out beside her.

"Well he is terribly handsome and quite appealing in a rather raffish way, although he wears entirely too many clothes," she finished just as his lips found hers. She turned on her side, facing him.

His hands moved to her breasts, his fingers caressing and stroking through the thin material of her nightdress, undoing the buttons as he went, pushing the thin material off her shoulders, revealing her breasts. She moved against him, pressing herself along his length. He broke the kiss and moved down to suckle her breasts, first one and then the other and her moan floated in the narrow space between them. She clutched at his hair, pulling it free and then dragging her fingers through the dark soft strands as his hands continued to push at her nightdress, his long fingers gliding over her skin, warm and teasing.

Her breath caught in her throat and her hands moved from his hair to travel across the breadth of his shoulders, tugging urgently at his shirt. He growled and pulled it off and then his skin was under her fingers, tantalizingly warm and firm. Her fingers traveled further, unlacing his trousers as Duncan continued nipping and teasing her breasts. Her breath was coming in short hitches interspersed with moans. She wanted him desperately, needed him.

Duncan let out a low hiss of want as she slid her hand inside his unlaced trousers and wrapped her fingers around his length.

"Yes," he whispered, straining into her touch, his hips bucking as she tightened her grip, her hand moving to match his rhythm.

He rolled her onto her back. They were frantically and gracelessly removing the remainder of their clothes, the need for skin contact so intense Leonie was gasping her need into his mouth as they kissed and then their skin was caressing, her flesh pale against his dark, entwined and perfectly meshed.

"I need you," she whispered, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him in to her. Oh Maker, she wanted him and then he was filling her, pushing deeper and deeper and faster and harder and her cries were incoherent with need.

"Say it," he growled, his eyes holding hers.

"I love you, my Rivaini pirate," she moaned and then a litany of "I love you" as she reached her climax and her muscles tightened around him, squeezing him and his own chant of "I love you" mixed with hers as he continued to thrust, shuddering at last as his own climaxed overcame him.

Marcus was not happy that she had reopened her wound but he grumbled good naturedly about young moon-addled lovers and began to cast a healing spell. Duncan's cheeks were ruddy and Leonie couldn't hold back the giggle that rose to her lips. She reached out and touched Duncan's hot cheek and he leaned into the touch.

"Stop moving, Lion," Marcus chastised and she settled back on the bed meekly as he wound a poultice and bandage around her shoulder.

"How was your trip back to Orlais?" she asked him finally, turning her eyes away from Duncan with great reluctance.

"Short. They left me, mountless, north of the Silent Plains. They said a mage Warden with my abilities should have no trouble making it the rest of the way on his own," he answered resentfully. "I hope the bastards ran into a horde of darkspawn," he added, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Oh Marcus, I am so sorry," Leonie said, her remorse bringing a sharp sting of tears that she blinked back. "I thought that if you stayed and something happened to me, you would be killed. I had hoped you would be safer returning. And then you could bring reinforcements."

"The reinforcements met me near the Nevarran border. I hitched a ride with a merchant, a dwarf and his family until I saw Duncan and Riordan and the rest. They were riding like their ars...they were riding like the wind," he amended with a laugh.

Riordan popped his head around the door then, as if waiting for his cue, and grinned. She held her arms out and he came to her quickly, throwing Duncan a smug look as he did so.

"I told you she loved me more, old man," he grinned.

She held him close, whispering her thanks. "I cannot tell you what joy your gift gave me, Riordan. I had almost given up hope."

"You didn't think we'd leave you here alone, did you lass?" he asked with another grin but his blue eyes were grim and tired. She tugged at his hair and leaned back, smiling.

"You know, I saved the wrapper, just in case you forgot to pack yours."

He threw back his head and laughed at that and the grimness around his eyes eased. "I thought we could wear matching wrappers to breakfast tomorrow," he retorted and they all laughed then.

Leonie's heart was full as she looked at each of them in turn. She loved them all and they had come for her and she felt blessed by their devotion.

"Is this a private party?" Tremain asked, poking his head around the door and grinning.

"First Warden Tremain!" she exclaimed with a bright smile and he entered, coming to take her hand in his. He bowed low at the waist and brushed his lips softly across her knuckles.

"Warden Leonie. It is good to see you on the mend," he murmured, his handsome face lit with a smile.

"Tell me what happened. It was so confusing and then Bledsoe seemed so intent on running me through that I think I may have missed many of the events, yes?" she asked.

"Eldrond is dead, he was stabbed by Dieter and the blade had been coated with poison. Dieter is in a cell in the basement. His friend Martens is dead, killed by Pendric, who is also dead. Fiona's doing. And Bledsoe, as you know, is also dead. I was quite surprised by that."

"So Pendric killed Martens? He was aligned with Eldrond but not Dieter?" Leonie asked, shaking her head. "This should not surprise me, coming from Empress Celene's court, but I admit it is a surprise."

"We are holding a special celebration tomorrow evening, Leonie. We want to recognize our brothers and sisters who helped us restore our pride," Tremain said quietly and there _was_ pride in his voice, and something more that she refused to identify.

"I look forward to it, First Warden Tremain."

He took his leave with a small bow of acknowledgement for the others.

Duncan came and sat beside her again. "Just rumors?" he asked, his brow raised.

"Most assuredly," she responded. "Although there may have been a few outward signs of affection, merely to ensure the ploy was believed. I promise you it was quite a hardship on my part," she added as he growled. "It was a great sacrifice, Duncan," she finished with wide eyes and an innocent smile.

Riordan and Marcus were laughing as they left. Marcus was muttering something about an angry Duncan being a dangerous Duncan but Leonie just chuckled.

"I don't scare you in the least, do I?" he asked finally, his lips twitching.

Leonie refused to answer. Instead, she invited him back to bed and with a contented sigh, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Grey Wardens knew how to celebrate. Leonie was happy to see that the Weisshaupt Wardens were no exception to the rule. The festivities started with a lavish dinner, announced with blaring horns and drums rolls. Leonie was seated next to Tremain at the head table and Duncan was on her other side, his hand resting lightly on her thigh. After the meal, Tremain stood and waited for the cheers and whistles to stop before he introduced Leonie and it wasn't until she was staring blankly at the new ceremonial plate he was offering her that she realized it was Warden Commander plate and that he had introduced her as the Commander of the Grey of Val Royeaux.

"A day will come, fellow Wardens, when Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, will become the First Warden."

"So say you, Tremain, so say we all!" someone shouted and the cheer was taken up by all. It was only later that she realized that Savine had led the cheer. Her eyes watered and she smiled gratefully before sitting back down, a blush coloring her cheeks.

After the meal, there was a program of entertainment, with various Wardens singing, playing instruments and there was even a juggler. Wine, brandy and ale were flowing freely and Leonie was tapping her foot in time to the music, sitting at a table. Fiona found her and came to sit beside her.

"I want you to know that I'll continue to try to discover what it is that makes your blood different. But I'm wondering if you're right about the Architect. Maybe he is a hybrid of something that is neither darkspawn nor human. I hope we can find the answers." And then she was gone as quietly as she had arrived.

"I wish things had been different," Tremain said, sliding into the chair Fiona had just vacated.

"Things are as they are, my friend. And that is a good thing, yes? You are First Warden."

"But not your lover."

Leonie swiveled her head to look at him. His face was serious. "I – Tremain, that was not real."

"Not for you, perhaps. I think for me, it might have been," he said softly and his impossibly handsome face creased into a forlorn smile. "But I never stood a chance, did I?" he added, looking over at Duncan who was talking with Magnus. She followed his gaze and Duncan glanced over at her and smiled, his brow quirked.

"And that's as it should be, Leonie. Anyone can see how much you love him. I always knew that. Besides, ours would have been a very short relationship," he finished with a wry grin and then he reached out and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips.

Tears prickled, hot and unexpected and she blinked rapidly. "I shall miss you greatly, my friend," she said softly and leaned over, kissing his cheek.

Duncan came to her then, as if sensing the shift in her mood. He nodded to Tremain. "Thank you for keeping her safe," he said and Tremain cocked his head to one side, grinning.

"I think it's more that she kept me safe," he replied and the two men chucked at that and shook hands.

It was only hours later, curled up beside Duncan, that it occurred to Leonie that if she was the Commander of Val Royeaux then Bertran truly had gone on his Calling. She slipped quietly out of bed and went to stand at the window. The snow was bright under the moon and she leaned against the pane of glass, her tears for Bertran and Ceres sliding silently down her face. A wave of homesickness crashed over her as she stood there looking at the thick blanket of snow. She missed the smells and sights and sounds of her beloved Val Royeaux.

They started for home two days later.


	34. Chapter 34

**A Commander's Duty**

**Val Royeaux, 8 months later**

Leonie wondered, staring at the dress Astrid had laid across her bed, when she had become more comfortable in armor than dresses? Probably before she was twenty, but especially since she had returned from Weisshaupt. She moved away from the dress, adjusting her Commander's breastplate. Astrid would just have to scold. She no longer felt made of softly rounded curves. She felt hard edged, angular. She was a commander now and the time for softness seemed gone.

Kristoff and his wife Aura would be arriving soon, as would Marcus and Teodar. Laurent was unable to attend their private supper but Leonie wanted to get to know her second in command. In the months since she had returned they had seemed to continually miss each other as duties and court life swallowed her time in large bites.

She wandered over to her desk and ran a finger along the edge of a letter. Tremain's letter. His last letter. She flicked it open and then picked it up. She knew it by heart but found a degree of peace in his flowing script. Or maybe it was absolution. Knowing it was her blood that hastened his Calling was a painful, bitter lump in her heart but reading his words, knowing he considered her blameless helped, if only a little.

_Dear Leonie,_

_The time has come for me to accept the inevitable. There are days when I can't think without the screaming of a thousand darkspawn crowding into my head, when the call of the Old God is overwhelming. Before I lose myself in madness, it is time for me to take that last walk into the dark. _

_I took your advice. Field Commanders will no longer know the whereabouts of the Old Gods and those of us who do know will not be permitted to take that walk into the darkness alone. At least two Grey Wardens will accompany us into the Deep Roads to ensure that we do meet our death. For those that choose not to do this there is a painless and quick death by poison that Fiona created. _

_I choose the Deep Roads. There are three Grey Wardens who are experiencing their Calling as well and they'll accompany me. I confess to you, and only to you, that I'm afraid. It's been a long time since I actually fought darkspawn. But it seems only right, all things considered. It's a commander's duty to lead by example, after all. _

_I'd like to think I know you well enough to know that you're feeling responsible for my early Calling. I remind you that your blood is not something you can control and you did not force me to drink it. So stop blaming yourself. That's the last order, as First Warden, that I will give you._

_I love you. I can write that now that it doesn't really matter. I think I fell in love with you the very first time I met you when you were such a prickly, scared thing. I thought I could be a hero for you. I almost forgot what that meant, didn't I? Perhaps in the end, I redeemed myself. _

_Be well, Leonie. _

_Yours,_

_Tremain  
First Warden, Weisshaupt Fortress_

Leonie opened the small carved chest, where all her important letters were kept, and quietly slipped his letter inside. She stood for a moment in the quiet, thinking about all those that she had lost to the Calling and all those that would go before her. If the taint's progress in her own blood had slowed, how long would she have to endure the constant losses? She didn't consider the additional years a boon, but rather a curse at times.

Astrid entered her bedroom with a quiet knock. "Warden Kristoff and his wife have arrived, Commander Leonie."

"Thank you, Astrid. Please make them comfortable and I'll be right there."

Leonie gave a last tug on her armor, rolling her shoulders to adjust the plate before stepping into the main room. Her new quarters, as Warden Commander of Val Royeaux, were much larger than her old quarters and sparsely furnished. Bertran's furnishings had been gone when she returned from Weisshaupt and she had simply never bothered to augment her own few items. She had hung the portrait of her father over the fireplace and the paintings of Jader hung on the other walls in the large living room. Her portrait of Duncan held special honor in her bedroom, on the wall opposite her bed. It was the last thing she saw before closing her eyes each night and it helped ease the aching loneliness.

"Good evening, Kristoff, Aura. I hope you brought your appetite. Astrid is a wonderful cook," Leonie greeted, stepping into the room and smiling at her second.

He had a warrior's build, wide through the shoulders and thick arms, muscled by years of shield and sword work. His dark hair was cut close to his scalp and his features were finely chiseled, his eyes the color of slate on a cloudy day. He seldom smiled and when he did, the scar that ran along the corner of his mouth up his cheek to the inside corner of his eye gave him a lopsided, almost rakish look.

Aura was a classically beautiful woman with golden blonde hair and large, expressive blue eyes. She was delicately built with dainty hands and tiny feet and an enviably waspish waist. Leonie always felt rather big and clumsy around her, awkward in a way she had not experienced growing up.

Marcus and Teodar arrived before she could do more than welcome Kristoff and Aura. Marcus was in fine spirits, able to put everyone at ease without an effort. Teodar remained quiet and watchful as they sat down to supper.

"I can't help but notice that you have paintings of Jader, Commander Leonie. Do you have family there?" Aura asked in her soft Orlesian voice.

"I was born at the Jader Warden compound. I am a fifth generation Warden. Are you from Jader?" Leonie could not contain the note of pride in her voice as she spoke.

"I was born in the town. My family is still there. I miss it very much. Do you?" Aura asked with a longing wistfulness.

"At times, very much so. I have a great many friends still there."

Leonie sat back and watched the interactions as they continued to eat. Aura was softly spoke and seemed shy but Leonie could sense a steel backbone in her. She would have to have one as the wife of a Warden. Those who did not rarely stayed in the marriage.

They were sitting down in the living area having brandy and sweetmeats when there was a knock on her door. Astrid admitted Laurent, whose face was pale, a fine sheen of sweat catching the light.

"A raiding party of darkspawn have been sighted west of the city. They say one hundred or more," he said breathlessly.

Leonie set her brandy aside. "Kristoff, call the men to arms and meet me in the stable. I want no less than forty men, no more than fifty. Have another ten Wardens man the western gate behind us," she instructed and Kristoff nodded once in understanding.

"Laurent, let Empress Celene know and call up the support troops. Have them meet us at the western gate in thirty minutes. No more than that, Laurent. Prod them with a whip if you have to," she commanded and turned to Marcus and Teodar.

"Teodar, Marcus, you are with me. I want to ride out now and assess the situation and we'll meet the troops at the west wall." Both men began to gather the weapons they had removed when they entered her quarters.

"Questions?" she asked, already strapping on her sword and dagger. She reached for her helm and glanced around. The men were standing at attention and she nodded quietly to them.

"Aura, you are welcome to stay here if you like, or you can meet the other wives in the main dining hall. That's where they assemble during a mustering."

She was surprisingly calm. Bertran had been a good teacher and she felt confident that she could command her troops. She was, however, surprised by the size of the raiding party. There were seldom more than a few dozen on a raiding party. Why were there so many? And why were they out there to begin with?

They were striding along the hall and out into the stables. The stablemen were scrambling to saddle all the horses but her own stableman had already saddled hers, waiting for her arrival to make the final adjustments to the stirrups. She swung up into the saddle and surveyed the growing crowd of men gathering there as the calls went out.

"Kingston! Ride to the other gates and notify the watch. Tell them to send a message to Laurent if they see anything suspicious, he will be at the western gate. And then notify Didier what is happening."

"Yes, Commander," the young Warden responded and with a brief bow, he was gone.

Kristoff rode up, armed and his helmet on the pommel of his saddle. "As you ordered, Commander Leonie, forty six men mounted and ready. Shall I stay and command the troops?" Kristoff asked, his voice steady and quietly pitched. Leonie appreciated how calm he was as it bolstered her confidence, made her feel calmer.

"Not this time. Laurent will stay behind to command. I want you with me. It is time we learned more about each other, yes?"

"As you say," he responded respectfully and she smiled slightly at the formality. Had she sounded so formal when she was a new second?

Twenty one minutes later, Leonie and her troops rode through the western gate. "Three columns. When we come to the raiding party, I want them flanked immediately," she instructed and Kristoff nodded, carrying the order down the line.

"Look at you, all grown up and in charge," Marcus said, coming to ride beside her. She raised an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes, feeling like a child playing at being a grown up but he just grinned at her before slipping back into place.

"Teodar, make sure the archers are evenly divided among the columns and keep the mages to the rear," she instructed and Teodar dropped back to follow her orders.

Leonie's blood was pumping hot and quick through her veins, adrenaline and nerves in equal parts, but her hands were steady as she led her Wardens out into the night. They came across the raiding party ten minutes later.

"Dismount!" she cried as soon as she spotted the darkspawn, the moon turning their taint twisted faces into glowing blue orbs of rotted flesh. She could feel the insatiable, never-ending pull, the scream of their tainted blood clashing with hers.

"At least fifty genlocks, another thirty hurlocks, a dozen emissaries," Kristoff reported quietly. Leonie nodded, rubbing the back of her skull.

"And four or five ogres from the feel of it," she added around a suddenly thick tongue.

"Teodar, take your column and flank left. Kristoff, flank right. The rest of you with me so we can split them. Take out the emissaries first. Keep the ogres paralyzed as long as possible and then use any slowing spells you can on them. Bellamy, take three warriors and two rogues around behind them, try to take the ogres out as quickly as possible. If you get into trouble, let me know."

Everyone nodded and they began to engage the darkspawn. More than chaotic, it was utter mayhem at times. Leonie was having trouble finding purchase as the ground was saturated with blood and gore. She went in low, slashing her way to an emissary who was hurling dark magic at a group of her men. She could hear a Warden screaming, high and shrill, but she continued to focus on the emissary. She spun in low and brought her sword up and with a sickening jolt, sliced through his arm. She heard the thud of the arm as it hit the ground. He was enraged and turned his magic on her but she had already ducked and spun away again, coming up behind him. Grabbing his rotting head and jerking it back, she brought her dagger across his throat and then kicked him away before moving on.

She felt a dull thud on her thigh and looked down to find an arrow had bounced off her armor and the genlock who had fired it was now drawing his daggers. She snapped out a kick that sent him backward but before she could act, she felt a hard shove on her back and she toppled onto the genlock she had just knocked down. The skittering pule of the genlock was loud in her ear as she grappled with him, trying to bring her dagger up. Kristoff was there suddenly, kicking the genlock, and Leonie was scrambling up and charging into the melee again.

The battle lasted for hours it seemed to Leonie but later she learned it had really only lasted forty minutes. As soon as the last hurlock fell, she collapsed, panting. Teodar came up and squatted beside her, handing her a waterskin. She pulled off her helmet, her face dripping, her hair soaked with sweat. She was deeply appreciative and gave him a shaky smile of gratitude.

Kristoff came and sank onto the ground beside her. "No losses, eighteen wounded."

Leonie exhaled sharply, closing her eyes. Thank the Maker. "How serious are the wounded?"

"Not so serious they can't mount and ride back," he assured and then smiled.

"Nice work, Commander," he added with admiration.

"You as well. Welcome to Val Royeaux, Kristoff," she said with equal admiration.

For the next three weeks there were similar encounters every few days. One time it was the western gate, another time it was the northern gate, once by the eastern gate. All different sized parties and all different configurations. Leonie felt fortunate that they hadn't lost any Wardens but there were significant injuries on several skirmishes. The men were exhausted and she sent patrols into the Deep Roads near Reval to scout but they found nothing out of the ordinary.

Finally she called a meeting in her office and invited Didier to attend as well. Gathering around a large map, she marked each spot an attack had occurred, including where the darkspawn had first been spotted. There appeared to be no set pattern, no way to know where they were coming from. Didier suggested keeping patrols in the field for days at a time, small patrols in each area of the attacks.

"It will be difficult to discern a pattern from mindless, random darkspawn attacks," Kristoff commented, frowning. He came to stand by the map and folded his arms. "Something doesn't seem right about this," he added uneasily.

Leonie stopped pacing and came over to the map as well. "Kristoff is right. Something is not quite right about these attacks."

But the longer they stood there examining the spots on the map, the less they could understand what they meant. Finally they agreed to meet back the next evening with fresh eyes.

That night another raiding party was spotted. It was the night their luck finally ran out. A large group of darkspawn was spotted heading toward the eastern gate. The battle was fierce, the darkspawn unyielding. Leonie was on the back of an ogre, hanging on for dear life as it tried to dislodge her when she heard Marcus scream. Another ogre had him, shaking him, squeezing him. She dug her sword and dagger into the ogre's neck and as soon as he started falling, she was hopping off and running to the ogre who still clutched Marcus. Kristoff was already there and he brought the ogre down. Marcus came with him.

A high keening, a mournful wail that hung in the air and seemed to go on forever. She couldn't imagine what could be making such an inhuman sound. She was holding Marcus, his body broken, well beyond pain now and the noise was coming from her.

She struggled to stand, still holding his lifeless body. Kristoff reached to take her burden and she jerked away from him.

"I'm his commander. It's my duty," she said fiercely, clutching him tighter. Kristoff nodded and walked beside her, as if his presence could lighten her load. She stumbled once but held her burden, head high, eyes straight ahead and dry. It was only as she approached the horses that she allowed Kristoff to take her burden and her arms suddenly felt weightless without Marcus. They fell limply to her side.

A pyre and memorial were held the next evening. Leonie was numb, unable to fathom that she would never see his boyish grin, hear his constant teasing again, feel his reassuring presence. He had saved her so many times, he had seemed invincible but when he had needed saving she had failed him. She couldn't cry, couldn't process it, just continued stumbling through the day.

When it was time for his memorial, she no longer stumbled. One more loss, one more pyre to light and still so many stretched before her. She pushed those thoughts away, deep into the cavern where her heart claimed to be.

She would never remember what she said at the service. She would never remember who was there and who was absent. She was stone, carved and lifeless. It was the only way she could get through it.

"Warden Marcus is now on his final journey to be with his brothers, those who have made the same sacrifice. We know they will greet him with open arms as he was a man without equal, a man who lived every day in the finest traditions of the Grey Wardens," Leonie began, her voice controlled. She was stone. Her heart was stone. Her mind was stone. This was her duty as a commander and she _would_ do this.

"He will be missed by all of us who were privileged enough to serve with him. He was a counselor, a mentor, a friend. I was honored to be in his company," she said and took a deep breath. She must be stone. She _had_ to be stone.

"In death, sacrifice," she finished quietly. She bent to light the pyre.

"Good-bye my dear friend," she whispered before she turned away to stand with Didier. Stone she was and stone she'd be. But inside, the stone was beginning to fracture and she forced herself to stand rigid and quiet beside the others, even as her heart began to scream out in protest.

She was a commander, it was her duty.


	35. Chapter 35

**The Meaning of Marriage**

It was late one night a week later, when sleep refused to come in the face of her grief that Leonie made her way to her office and pulled out the map. She studied it again, they were missing something. Something obvious. She moved her fingers along the points on the map that marked the attacks, in order of the dates of them and then her fingers paused. She lowered them and then gripped her hands together to stop their sudden shaking. What she was thinking was unthinkable. Impossible. It went against everything they knew about darkspawn.

"These aren't random attacks. They are testing our defenses," she whispered, horrified.

Nobody wanted to believe it but none could dispute the possibility. Somehow darkspawn were testing their defenses, where they were weakest, where they were strongest, how fast they could respond to an attack. It was the only thing that made sense and it made no sense at all.

The call went out throughout Orlais and on to Weisshaupt and the commanders of the Grey in other nations, but as quickly as they had started, the darkspawn attacks seemed to stop. And that frightened Leonie even more. Why had they stopped? Had they learned all they needed to know? What was going on in the bowels of the Deep Roads, in the dreaded Dead Trenches? She prayed that it was nothing, that is was all just random happenstance. And maybe she just needed to believe the attacks had some importance, to give meaning to Marcus' death.

Leonie stood on her balcony a few nights later. The wind was light, merely a breath against her skin, lightly brushing her hair away from her face. The moon was waning, still bright but slowly moving toward a new moon. She dropped her hands to the stone railing, resting them lightly, listening to the voices of the Choir of the Grand Cathedral. They were singing the Canticle of Trials and the words became part of the wind, brushing softly against her skin, absorbed through her pores to rest in her heart.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

It was then that the tears finally came, as quietly and gently as the wind that caressed her face.

* * *

A month passed without an attack. And then another. Two months of quiet and Leonie began to breathe easier. Three months passed and it seemed like the attacks had been nothing more than a dream, a nightmare whose horror dimmed as the weeks passed. Her grief began to ease as her days once again slipped into a routine, but the stone around her heart remained.

Didier shared the messages from the commanders in other nations as they filtered in. None reported similar attacks. Magnus wrote from Weisshaupt agreeing that the attacks themselves were odd but not unheard of and asking to be kept informed. He also mentioned that Fiona was diligently working on the riddle of Leonie's blood and went on to state that Tremain had supplied several vials of his blood as well, before he had left on his Calling. Magnus hoped that some answers would be forthcoming soon. Leonie privately doubted that after so many years of fruitless research but she hoped to be proven wrong.

During those months, she became better acquainted with Kristoff and his wife and came to enjoy their company. He was strong willed but even tempered, knowledgeable on a host of subjects and never showed any signs that he resented being under the command of a woman. She attributed that to the fact that he too was a child of a Warden and they tended to be more open minded about such things. Aura was a constant reminder that a strong woman did not have to be all sharp edges and angles and Leonie slowly began to feel comfortable in dresses again and she had a set of leather commander's armor made for those days when she was at her desk more than in the field, which seemed to happen more frequently.

Four months after the initial attack, she received a letter from the Bannorn. Her mother was remarrying. He was a bann she had grown up with named Roan Gilmore, a widower with a son who was squiring with a noble family. Leonie and Riordan were invited to the wedding and Leonie began to make arrangements immediately. A celebration was just what she needed and the thought of her mother finally finding new and unexpected happiness gave her a joy that lightened her step and brought her smile more readily to her lips. That Duncan would be there had nothing to do with it, of course.

Leonie sailed from Val Royeaux two weeks after receiving the invitation. Kristoff saw her off, assuring her that her instructions would be carried out to the letter in her absence. She laughed, remembering her own time as Bertran's second. She had always reassured him in much the same manner. She trusted Kristoff and as she stood on the deck, watching Val Royeaux melt into the haze, she breathed deeply of the salt crusted air, her muscles unwinding with each passing mile.

Riordan boarded the ship in Jader and the reunion was as boisterous as always. It was hard to be sad with Riordan around and Leonie was grateful for his company. They stayed up late each night, playing cards and teasing each other unmercifully. It was just what she needed and the seven day voyage from Jader to Highever flew by. Her color returned to her cheeks, she found food tasted better again and her sleep was trouble free. It was a healing time for her and she thanked Riordan the night before the ship docked in Highever. Riordan pulled her onto his lap and held her close, his grin just as bright as ever.

"You know, lass, you should leave your pirate for me. I'm much better for you," Riordan said, rubbing his stubble against her cheek.

"A pirate he may be, dear Riordan, but you are a rapscallion and you would break my heart in minutes should I be foolish enough to give it to you," she responded, giggling as his stubble tickled her cheek.

"Why thank you, Lion. I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever called me," Riordan replied with a smirk.

If the Bannorn was all green hillocks and blooming fruit trees in the spring, it was a riot of yellows, reds and burnt oranges with seas of golden grass all caught in the dazzling autumn sun. Bright scarlet leaves danced wildly on nearly nude limbs, partnered by the biting wind. Great piles of amber colored leaves scuttled along the ground, to be caught by the wind's embrace and scattered along the road, crunching crisply under the horses' hooves. And while it was cold and the wind sharp, Leonie found she didn't mind as the reunion with her mother and Duncan drew closer and closer.

They approached Goldenvale at dusk and the welcoming glow of torchlight and candles beckoned them on. Before she had time to remove her cloak and warm her hands, her mother was there, holding her in her arms and there was a quiet happiness that surrounded her mother like a golden aura. Renfrew, gray streaking his dark hair, his smile as warm and welcoming as Leonie remembered, came to hug her as well.

"Duncan should be here tomorrow, Lion," her mother replied to Leonie's inquiring look. A stab of disappointment and then it was gone, impossible to be gloomy in the celebratory mood that clung to the air.

"Good, then we shall have time to catch up, Mama. You must tell me all about this mysterious Bann Gilmore who has captured your heart," Leonie teased and her mother blushed a becoming shade of pink.

"I've known him since we were children. He is a good friend."

Leonie raised her eyebrow at this. "Friend?" she asked with a chuckle.

"A very _dear_ friend," her mother amended.

Nila took Leonie's hand in hers and asked anxiously, "Do you mind that I'm remarrying, Leo?"

"Oh Mama, I am delighted! I know Papa would want this," Leonie added fervently and she knew it was true. Her mother had been in mourning far too long. She hugged her mother again. They sat quietly talking, sharing girlish laughter as they discussed Nila's newfound happiness and the wedding plans.

"Well I don't really need a ceremony but Roan insists. It will be small, that much he conceded to."

"You do not need a ceremony?" Leonie heard herself ask in slightly shocked tones.

"Oh Leo, you aren't going to tell me you're old fashioned enough to believe a Revered Mother needs to perform a rite to make a union proper?" Nila asked with a shake of her head.

Leonie had never really given it any thought. She was a Grey Warden and the traditions of most people were not necessarily the traditions she practiced. Still she was curious.

"I suppose not but you married Papa. Do _you _not believe in marriage?"

Nila settled down on a settee and patted the space beside her. Leonie came and sat down, dropping her head onto her mother's shoulders. Her mother quietly stroked Leonie's temple and a deep feeling of peace filled her. Odd how after so many years of thinking she was an adult she could still feel like a small child seeking comfort in her mother's arms.

"I believe that marriage is the joining of souls between two people, a bond that exists within the Maker's sight because He chooses which souls fit perfectly together. Words and ceremonies don't change that bond. I don't believe that a person, even one who claims to speak for the Maker, can say a few words and make two people married that shouldn't ever really be together. That society demands it be done I do understand and to that end I have agreed to the ceremony."

Before Leonie could reply, Riordan was there, pulling her up and dragging her outside. In the flickering torchlight she saw a man, dressed in silverite armor with leather overskirts, dismounting.

"Duncan!" she cried, her heart flipping happily in her chest as she ran to throw herself at him. He caught her up, laughing good naturedly before finding her lips with his own.

"You don't seem very happy to see him, Lion," Riordan remarked with a wide grin.

"Oh, I am happy enough, I suppose," she responded with a bored sigh and Duncan pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers again, his tongue pushing past her teeth and plundering her mouth. It was some time before Leonie caught her breath enough to say anything else.

They gathered in the dining room and after the meal, once again toasted to those that were missing. Each year the list seemed to get longer and Leonie felt the stone in her, the safety of the stone forming around her heart. So many friends, so much of her family gone now. She could not bring herself to look at Riordan or Duncan. Time was slipping from her grasp and she could not bear to think of it, could not bear to see what was riding hard at her back. _Press forward. Always press forward_. Duncan's words a steadying reminder in her thoughts.

A few minutes later, Leonie excused herself and went up to their room, stopping on her way to request a bath. Once the large tub was filled, she turned the lamps down low and slipped out of her clothes, waiting for Duncan. He did not keep her waiting long. As soon as he entered, she went to him and began to unbuckle his armor. When he moved to help her, she pushed his hands aside.

"Let me, Duncan," she whispered against his lips. He stood patiently, quietly allowing her to take each piece of armor off and lay it aside before starting on the arming jacket and then the padding and finally his smalls. She felt him shiver as her palms skimmed across his torso and up his chest, her fingers teasing and tickling the dark downy fur there. She knelt again, hands slowly tracing the shape of his firmly muscled calves and then the hard thick muscles of his thighs before skimming away again, across his buttocks and up his back. Another shiver, a sigh, a slight hitch as she winged her way across his shoulders and down his chest to his trim waist. A low noise in his throat, a deep rumbling groan as her fingers curved around him before skimming away again.

She led him to the bath and once he was settled in the water, she picked up a soft cloth and the soap. Taking his arm, she slowly ran the cloth from his shoulder to his hand and then slowly up again before reaching across the tub, her breasts brushing lightly across his chest, as she washed his other arm. A groan, another hitch of breath as she ran the cloth along the length of his leg and back again. A growl as she repeated the motion with his other leg. Setting the cloth aside, she took the scented soap and brushed it across his tip, firmly grasping him before releasing him and running the bar along his length. His breathing was quick and shallow and he was straining against her hand.

Sliding the soap along his torso and up to his chest, he caught her hand, a plea, and she smiled tenderly, stretching up to kiss him softly, her breasts once again brushing his chest.

"I love you," she whispered, the words a sigh against his lips, before sliding into the water. His hands came up and gripped her hips as she hovered above him. His eyes, hooded with desire, met hers as she slowly lowered herself onto him.

"I love you," she whispered again as she leaned forward, brushing his lips with hers. Her tongue moved along his neck and up to his ear, biting his lobe before her tongue curled slowly around the shell of his ear. His breath hitched again, his hands tightening on her hips as she whispered into his ear, "I love you."

She moved slowly, her muscles tightening around him, a rhythm that gained intensity as his fingers flexed and curled in the soft flesh of her hips. His head was flung back and he was trying not to move, she could see the effort he was making, could hear it in the increasing fervor of his almost breathless groans. She steadily increased her movements, the warm water of the bath creating cresting waves, swirling around them, caressing their skin.

A strangled, inarticulate sound and Duncan was sitting forward, his teeth sharp as they pressed into the curve of her shoulder, his body moving with a will of its own, grinding into her with a wild abandon that sent the bath water surging over the top of the tub and splashing onto the floor like some great tidal wave.

In those final moments as her release drew close, with Duncan's fingers now urging her on, she was not a commander made of stone, she was a bird, soaring high and free with a wildly beating heart, her song muffled by his mouth on hers.

Afterwards, as they lay together on the bed, limbs entangled and her head resting on his shoulder, he asked her quietly, "Do you ever wish we were married?"

She was surprised into a chuckle and when she felt him tense beside her, she raised her head to stare down into his intense brown eyes. They held a question and she saw that he was serious and that the answer mattered greatly to him.

"…_marriage is the joining of souls between two people_…" Her mother's words but Leonie understood how true they were as she stared down into those warm brown eyes. She and Duncan were joined, their souls irrevocably intertwined, and she could not imagine it any other way. They were married in every way that mattered.

"I believe we _are_ married, my love," she answered honestly and dropped a kiss on his lips, just a soft reminder that she was his, always.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: **_There is only one more chapter after this, followed by a short epilogue. Both should be posted within the next day or so._

**And So It Begins**

Nila Parnell Caron became Nila Parnell Caron Gilmore on a hazy autumn day, a lovely bride in a pale peach silk gown and a crown of tea roses and baby's breath in her hair. Leonie thought she had never seen her mother look more content.

She wondered, for a moment, what it must have been like, being the wife of a Grey Warden and that led to her wondering what it would be like not to have to worry about early deaths and a duty that constantly pulled her away from her loved ones. In some ways it sounded idyllic. And then she saw Duncan, bent low to listen to Nila and laughing at something she said. He was gorgeous standing there, his face lit with laughter and she couldn't imagine being with anyone but him, couldn't imagine a life that didn't revolve around the Grey Wardens. She wasn't sure that she _could_ settle for an ordinary life, nor, she realized as Duncan turned to gaze in her direction, would she want to.

Roan Gilmore was not larger than life, as Balfour had been, but rather a man of middling height with dark red hair and very kind green eyes. Soft spoken and even tempered, he looked at Nila with respect and love. Leonie could not help but like him immediately.

"You will always be welcome at Hunter Fell. It isn't as grand as Goldenvale, but it's home and beautiful in its own right."

"Thank you, Bann Gilmore. I look forward to visiting the next time I am in Ferelden."

They stood in the great room, a large fire crackling merrily to take the chill out of the air, as they became better acquainted. Leonie found him easy to talk to and enjoyed learning about his son, Roland, whom he called Rory. He told her of Rory's interest in becoming a Grey Warden and she promised to let Duncan know.

And then Nila was hugging Leonie in farewell as she and Roan began their journey to Hunter Fell. Leonie, tears caught like sparkling jewels in the late afternoon rays of the sun, waved until long after they were out of sight. Renfrew came and put an arm around her.

"It will be entirely too quiet here," he said, his voice sounding a bit forlorn. Leonie slipped her arm around his waist to comfort him.

"Perhaps it is time you found a wife, Uncle Renfrew?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I have a cousin who will be taking over the bann when I pass on. I'm too old to change my ways."

Leonie found that unaccountably sad. He would be alone again now that Nila had remarried and that thought brought fresh tears to her eyes. "You are such a wonderful man, Uncle. There must be many women who wish to marry you, surely?"

Renfrew looked away but not before Leonie saw a deep sadness in his eyes. "The woman I love is not nobility and won't consent to marriage."

Leonie frowned. "She is a commoner? But if you love each other, that is all that matters, yes? Titles do not seem that important to you."

"It's not the title that bothers her, I think. She's an elf, you see, a seamstress in the village. She doesn't want to condemn me to censure by the nobles. As if it matters to me what others say. My real friends would support it but she is a stubborn woman. Part of her charm," he added with a sheepish grin.

"Fight for her, Uncle Renfrew," Leonie told him seriously. "Do not give up until she agrees," she added and then related the story of her own persistence with Duncan.

"He would never have come to me on his own. I merely refused to allow him a choice in the matter," she concluded with a grin.

Renfrew looked thoughtful and then nodded once. "You're right, I need to fight for her. The stubbornness you lay claim to is a Parnell family trait, after all."

Duncan and Riordan came up then and the conversation drifted on to other subjects but Leonie hoped that her uncle found the happiness he deserved. He and Riordan wandered off to share some Antivan brandy as Duncan pulled her up the stairs to their room. She and Riordan were leaving the following morning and neither she nor Duncan wanted her to go.

Duncan was busy with the laces at the back of her dress as soon as the door shut behind them. She felt his warm breath on the nape of her neck as his fingers nimbly undid her dress. He slid it down over her hips and it pooled on the floor at her feet. He bent, his lips soft against her bare shoulder as his hands roamed her body. All thoughts of Renfrew fled. All thoughts of anything other than this man who held her and this moment with him, fled.

Later, he turned up the lamp and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, padding across the room to his saddlebags. He rummaged around a moment before finding what he was looking for and padding back to the bed. He was glorious in the soft lamplight, all hard muscle and softened planes and golden skin, his face serious. She reached out a hand and he took it in his free hand, bringing it up and kissing her knuckles, fluttering warm breath against them before lowering her hand and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"For you," he said simply, sounding a little anxious. He handed her a small silver box, a lion's head engraved on it.

"Oh Duncan, it is lovely," she breathed, her fingers examining the delicate engraving.

Duncan chuckled and replied, "Not the box, Lion. Open it."

Inside the box, nestled on dark blue velvet, was a silverite ring with dwarven runes inscribed on it. She recognized the runes immediately. The ring matched his earring, the one he had worn since she was nine years old. She was speechless and the tears were gathering. She stared at it for long moments.

"Of course you don't _have_ to wear it," he said wryly.

"I-I do not know what to say, my love. It is quite the most beautiful gift I have ever been given," Leonie whispered thickly and the gathering tears spilled over. With shaking fingers, she removed the ring and slid it onto her finger.

"A speechless Lion? Unheard of," he remarked dryly but she heard the underlying relief in his voice.

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that their time was dwindling and soon all she would have of Duncan would be memories and the ring now gracing her finger, as if leaving it unspoken would somehow prevent the truth of it.

Fog clung to the air in the morning, perfectly matching Leonie's mood, muting sound and dampening their cloaks. She turned in her saddle, raising her hand in farewell. Duncan stood beside Renfrew and they returned her salute before they were swallowed by the mist.

* * *

Kristoff had prepared a detailed report of all darkspawn activity in her absence. They sat at her desk, going over the reports and discussing assignments.

"It seems as though the Reval area is still the site of these marauding bands of darkspawn. What is it that we are missing there?"

Kristoff shrugged, his grey eyes narrowed in thought. "We have to be missing another opening into the Deep Roads there, somewhere. It's the only thing I think of that can account for their hit and run tactics. Which is odd enough in and of itself," he added with a frown.

Leonie nodded. "Have you mapped all the attacks? Found where a logical point of entry might be?"

"Yes and I want to send a team in to investigate that area thoroughly. It'll take a week or more to do that but I think that's our best option for now."

Again Leonie nodded and heard herself say, "I will lead the scouting team."

"Isn't that what you have a second for?" he asked pointedly.

Normally she would agree, but she spoke again, her voice tempered by command. "I am quite familiar with the area, more so than you are. Also, I have not been in the field since Marcus was killed. It is time I returned."

Kristoff nodded once before speaking again. "How many men will you be taking?"

"Three others. Too many and the darkspawn will sense us before we wish them to, yes?"

It was decided that Teodar, Laurent and a new mage, a young elf named Shaniel, would accompany her. She went to the training grounds and found Laurent. His face lit up as he saw her approach.

"About time you got back to your training. Look at you, all fat and out of shape," he teased, handing her a training sword and dagger.

"So you say, Laurent, but I can still easily defeat the likes of you, old man."

They sparred for some time, a crowd gathering as neither of them seemed to get the upper hand. She parried, he feinted, she thrust, he blocked and so it went as the sweat began to flow freely. Leonie's breath was coming in short gasps and she felt awkward and clumsy at times but determined to best Laurent. It did not end that way. She finally went sprawling backwards, Laurent's blade tracing a victory pattern on her neck.

"I hate you," she whispered as he helped her up and he laughed.

"I expect you do, Lion," he returned, taking a bow before the cheering crowd.

The next morning they rode out through the western gate. The day was hazy, the air spiced with the smell of burning leaves and drying hops. Cool, but not cold, the sun was a watery yellow and the wind was merely a thought. Leonie's mood was lighter than she would have anticipated, given that Marcus was not riding at her side.

She found Shaniel a likeable young man with a droll, sarcastic wit and a penchant for whistling old folksongs. His eyes, a peculiar shade of violet, were constantly moving, as if the world were new to him. She suspected it might be if he'd been in a tower most of his life.

Cresting a small rise in the dusty road, she pulled up short. A large party of darkspawn, well over fifty, was moving deliberately toward them. She looked around, fighting back an edge of fear. Four Wardens against a sea of darkspawn, at least ten of which were emissaries, if she was sensing their magic correctly. She glanced around quickly and saw a field of dry summer grass.

"I'm going to try and distract them, bring them into the field. As soon as they get there I want you to set it on fire, Shaniel." She waited until she saw him nod. She turned to Laurent.

"When the smoke is thick enough, I want you to ride as fast as you can back to Val Royeaux to warn the others. Kristoff knows the plan, make sure you find him first. Teodar, Shaniel and I will try and slow them down to give you time."

Teodar looked about to protest but he shrugged once and nodded quietly.

Laurent grinned. "As you command, Commander," he responded cheerfully.

Leonie spurred her horse, coming in from the east, leaning low in her saddle. She let out a yell as she approached and then swung her horse hard, setting a zigzag course across the fields as she pulled them closer and closer to the other Wardens. She reined in hard as soon as she was sure the bulk of the darkspawn were in the field as well.

She nodded and Shaniel, with little fanfare, slammed a fireball into the midst of them, setting the field ablaze. A cacophony of screams and grunts and roars mingled with the sharp crackle of the grass as it burned and the smoke was thick and dark grey.

"Now Laurent!" she called, her eyes smarting from the smoke. She coughed and then bent low again as she urged Vixen forward. Shaniel and Teodar fell in beside her and they made their way to the road. Laurent was already out of sight.

"Can you cast a grease spell, Shaniel?" At his nod, she continued. "Cast it there," she ordered, pointing fifty paces behind them. "As soon as the bulk hit it, cast another fireball."

Shaniel grinned and after he cast his grease spell, he began to whistle. Teodar's mount stamped impatiently and Vixen was restive as well. The approaching darkspawn and the heavy smoke were making the animals more uncomfortable than their riders.

The fireball was powerful and destructive. She watched a number of darkspawn genlocks fall, writhing and twisting. The smoke was thicker, more acrid, the rancid smell of burning darkspawn flesh choking.

"Now," she said between coughing fits, her eyes mere slits now, swollen nearly shut from the smoke.

They rode quickly and as they approached the western gate, her shoulders relaxed. Kristoff was already riding toward her.

"There were fifty or more in the group but I'm not sure how many now. About twenty minutes behind us, I hope."

"We're ready, thanks to Laurent."

It was the start of another round of large raiding parties hitting at their defenses, Leonie was sure of it. Didier and Kristoff agreed that Weisshaupt and Wardens in other nations needed to be informed. Leonie sent the letters out immediately. She included a note in Duncan's begging him to show the letter to Cailan, to let him know that thirty Wardens would not be nearly enough. She also went to Celene.

"Ah, Cousin Leonie. Always a very happy day when you visit," Celene greeted her with a bold smile and effusive hug.

"And for me as well, Cousin Celene," Leonie replied and when she did not return the smile with one of her own, Celene ushered her to the tea table and bade her sit.

"I have a request, cousin. The attacks from the darkspawn have increased. We are one hundred Wardens and over two hundred support soldiers in Val Royeaux. In all of Orlais there are two hundred and fifty Wardens and three divisions of cavalry and foot soldiers. Ferelden has only thirty Wardens and no support staff of any kind. I would ask that you write to King Cailan and apprise him of these attacks and suggest he increase the number of Wardens within his borders and augment them with a division of soldiers."

Celene laughed merrily, her eyes shining. "But my dear cousin, I have already written just such a letter, yes? And he has agreed to do so after their next Landsmeet which I believe he said was in seven months time. See, your fears are without foundation," Celene teased, patting Leonie's arm with her bejeweled hand.

"Cailan is a very sweet creature, and he is a delicious flirt. I quite like him," she added with a coy laugh.

Knowing she had done all she could, Leonie returned to her office and began to make contingency plans in case the attacks grew any larger. She and Kristoff poured over reports and maps, trying to find even a small hint of where the darkspawn were coming from.

Three days later the western and northern gates were hit at the same time. They lost twenty men but held the gates. Only one of the men killed was a Warden, a very young recruit that Leonie had known by sight but not by name. She added his name to the Roster of the Dead. The city was anxious, unease creeping into the air. Something was happening and every citizen in Val Royeaux could feel it.

The Wardens waited. But as quickly as the attacks had begun, they once again stopped. Patrols were stepped up and Leonie spent long hours in her office with debriefings and strategy sessions. Finally, Kristoff pulled her aside.

"Go to your quarters and just sleep, Leonie. You look exhausted, you sound exhausted. You're making me exhausted," he told her firmly.

Leonie nodded, bleary eyed, and made her way to her quarters. Astrid fixed her a hot meal and a bath and she accepted both gratefully. It seemed like years since she had slept, and even longer since she has seen Duncan. An aching deep within her, where she couldn't reach to massage away the pain, filled her. And despair came with it on silent feet. It took her hours before she fell into an exhausted sleep.

"_And so it begins, Leonie," he whispered and she stared at him in fascination. He had become even more human in appearance, his face nearly smooth but oddly pulled down on one side as if only half his face was animated. There were scars and an oddly placed earring as if to hold his skin in place over his cheekbone. _

_He reminded her of a painting she had once seen of an ancient Tevinter Archon but disgust replaced her fascination. The towering crown he wore, usually made of gold and silverite, was not a crown at all, it was bone, __**his**__ bone, and she felt the horror creeping along her blood._

"_I apologize for what must happen, Leonie. But we will meet again."_

Leonie woke screaming.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **_I just want to thank all of you who have followed Duncan and Leonie through all their adventures. Your encouragement and support for my first fanfic have helped shape the story as well as given me a great deal of joy. _

_A short epilogue will follow, hopefully tomorrow, and Leonie's story will continue in a sequel, "The Heart of the Lion" as she becomes the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden._

**In These Dwindling Hours**

**Jader, 4 months before Ostagar**

He knew he shouldn't, he had so many tasks at hand and something was stirring in the Deep Roads. He could feel it in the taint of his blood. It was more than just the Calling, something ominous. He should be in Ferelden pounding on Cailan's desk demanding more Wardens. But a planned trip to Orzammar led him to write to Leonie and asked her to meet him in Jader for a short visit.

Of course she was there before him and as soon as he entered the gates, he saw her, Riordan next to her, both smiling in welcome. If he closed his eyes, he could see her, a young girl, eyes too big for her face, sitting in the tree, waiting for him. A young woman, demanding he love her, as if he could help himself from doing so. His Lion. His home. His heart.

As soon as he dismounted, she was there, arms wrapping around him, her smile lively.

"Hello, my Rivaini pirate," she murmured, bringing her lips to his. He had to come, had to see her, had missed her so sharply during the past few months that it had robbed him of sleep. And now, here he was finally holding his beloved Lion, because some part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge knew their time together could be measured in these dwindling hours now stretched before them.

They were down in the meadow and his head was in her lap as she stroked his brow, the wind ruffling her long hair. He closed his eyes against the guilt that seemed more and more to eat away at him. He should have let her go, let her find a younger man, a happier life than the moments they had been forced to steal over the years because of duty. It seemed so inadequate, she deserved so much more.

Her fingers traveled from his brow down to his cheek and then he felt her fingers teasing at his neck. He reached up and captured her hand and brought it to his lips. He should have done a great many things. What he had done was grab at his own happiness and he knew her well enough to know she had been every bit as happy. Still, he felt as though he had robbed her of her youth and now he would have to tell her the truth. His Calling was coming and the primal urges of his tainted blood were getting harder to control. He placed her hand on his chest, over his heart and held it there, hoping she could feel all the love that resided there.

They had three days together before his conscience got the better of him and he knew he should return to Ferelden.

"You are leaving?" Leonie asked and the words, flavored by anguish barely held in check, snagged at his resolve, threatening to unravel it.

She closed her eyes, damming the tears building behind her lids. He saw her lips tremble with the effort to keep her tears from falling and he was grateful for the effort because his own grief was bubbling up inside him and he turned away for a moment to regain control of his own emotions, a task that seemed increasingly difficult of late as the taint darkened in his veins.

When he turned back to her, he studied her, his brown eyes warm and loving and full of regret. She was everything he had ever wanted. She was loving and gracious and stronger than he was in so many ways. She was a lion. And for reasons only the Maker could guess at, she loved him with a depth and devotion that had carried him through the long nights away from her, when duty and guilt and loneliness pulled at his sleep. How could he leave her? In three long strides he reached her, arms enveloping her.

"Don't cry," he admonished roughly, unsure if he was commanding her or himself as he tucked her head under his chin. His arms tightened as he breathed her in, memorizing the unique scent that was hers alone; roses and vanilla, a touch of muskiness that smelled of desire. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, enjoying the silky strands of her dark hair tickling his nose. For a moment he wasn't sure he had the strength to leave. It would be so easy to lose himself here, to forget duty and just spend his remaining time with her. What little there was left of it.

His time was coming to an end so much quicker than he had wanted. He felt it nipping at his heels like a rabid wolf, sharp and stinging and vicious. In a different life, he would be in his prime, married to this wondrous creature in his arms, raising strapping sons and beautiful daughters. But even as those thoughts ran through him, he knew that in a different life he would never have met her at all. It is the very thing killing him that had brought them together in the first place.

"One more day, my love. That is all I ask. And then I shall send you on your way with a smile and a wave and no demands at all," she whispered into his shirt, her voice husky with her unshed tears, her unspoken fears. She suspected. He could feel it in the strength of her hands, digging into his shoulders as she held him fiercely to her.

He raised her chin, meeting her eyes and smiled. He had never been able to deny her. She so seldom asked anything of him that this request seemed easy to fulfill. His lips touched hers, soft and searching but she opened her mouth, her tongue clashing with his, demanding more. The want, the _need_ for her stirred in him, deep and primitive. His hands found the curve of her waist and he lifted her up into his arms and moved to the bed. She wrapped her legs around him, hands trailing along his chest, pulling at the leather ties of his shirt. And still their mouths were melded, their need communicated through the heat of their tongues, the desperation of their hands until he was not sure he would last long enough to enter her.

He heard her purr as his hand slid under her skirt and up her leg, caressing the smooth skin of her inner thigh and his own growl answered her as she bit his lower lip. She whisked away his shirt and ran her hands along the muscles and scars of his torso and chest and though they had been together many times, it always felt like the first time. But now it occurred to him, as he bent to nip at her neck, this was their last time and for a moment he was sure he would be the one to cry but her lips were following her hands and he was lost once again in the need for her.

Neither of them slept that night, holding onto each other and whispering words of love and hope, even when hope was already dying, killed by the same taint that was now killing him.

In the morning, he again bent to the task of packing. She was in bed, head propped up on her hand, blue eyes wide and watching, as if memorizing every line and curve and shadow of him. He smiled over his shoulder at her as he stuffed his things into his pack and then his hands stilled, his breath caught, his heart slowed. She was so achingly beautiful, his Lion of Orlais. So breathtakingly lovely that he felt the overwhelming desire to take her again, just grab her and sink into her. But he couldn't, knowing if he did he truly wouldn't be able to leave at all. He bent his head quickly to his task, blinking back the tears.

"You will let me know when you go to Orzammar, yes? I can be there in a matter of days and I would see you off, my love."

He stared at her, surprised that she knew, that she had the courage to tell him she knew. But he shouldn't be surprised, he realized. In many ways she knew his thoughts better than he did. "I won't ask that of you," he said gruffly.

"But _you_ are not asking me, _I _am telling you," she replied firmly, in the voice that commanded a hundred men to obey her without question. He smiled and the constriction in his chest lessened.

"That's my fierce Lion."

"Do you think it is that close?" she asked and her voice was quiet and even, devoid of the emotions that might give him even a twinge of guilt. She loved him enough to make this goodbye easier and he loved her all the more for it.

"Months, I think. Maybe seven or eight if I'm lucky, and if these darkspawn attacks are just raids. If they aren't…" he trailed off. They understood what that would mean.

"Ah. A lovely time of year for travel then. The colors in the mountains should be quite beautiful, yes?"

"And if I told you not to come?" he asked wryly, dark eyebrow quirked, knowing the answer. She was nothing if not tenaciously stubborn.

"I would ignore it, of course," she replied with a sparkling laugh. He nodded with a chuckle.

All too soon he was packed and they stood in the circle of each other's arms. "You know, Duncan, that I have loved you my whole life. And I will love you to the end of my days."

"Don't let your love for me blind you to others. I wouldn't want that," he replied sternly, but there was a small part of him that was glad to hear those words, to know that he meant so much to her, as she was his touchstone, always there for him, helping him, loving him, making him stronger. He would like to think he had done the same for her.

"Ha! _You_ would not have wanted me at all had I not forced myself upon you. What you want is not necessarily what I am willing to give," she replied with a laugh that trembled ever so slightly.

Duncan stared down into her eyes, into her soul, and he smiled. "You are entirely too stubborn for you own good. I have been a bad influence, I see," he remarked dryly.

"Ah, so you say, but I have to disagree. You have been the best possible influence, my Rivaini pirate."

He bent and dropped a kiss, soft and lingering, on her lips. "I'll write and let you know what I find in Ostagar."

"Know that the Grey Wardens of Val Royeaux stand with their brothers of Ferelden and will be there should you need us," she replied formally.

She reached behind her and unclasped her pendent, the silverite lion with sapphire eyes that hung on a thick silverite chain. She stood on tip toes and, stretching up to him, fastened it around his neck.

"Now go, my love. And know that I am with you always," she said and her voice was strong, filled with love, unmarred by sorrow or fear or anger.

"And I with you," he replied and with another long kiss, he walked away.

He didn't turn around as he strode towards the stables and his horse. He knew that she stood in the doorway, watching him and loving him, dry eyed because she had promised she wouldn't cry and she always kept her promises. He would not allow himself to turn around and let her see his own tears that were so ready to fall they trembled on his lashes.

As he rode out of the courtyard, he reached up one hand to clasp the pendent, knowing it would help give him strength in the darkness to come.

**A letter, sent from Lothering 3 days before Ostagar**

_My own sweet Lion,_

_I have come from the Circle of Magi with a new recruit, a powerful mage who will be a fine addition to the Wardens. Phindar Surana is strong and loyal and will make an excellent Second in time. I say this because I have written to the First Warden recommending that you be made the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. I can think of no other more qualified for the job and knowing the Grey of Ferelden will be in your hands eases my mind. _

_You're probably wondering why I don't recommend Alistair as your Second and the answer is not simple. His upbringing never gave him any reason to believe in himself, to understand himself. He hides this insecurity, all of his feelings really, behind a wall of jokes and good humor. I recognize that in him and hope that we have enough time together that he will grow into the man I believe him to be. In time, he will be a great leader, but now is not that time. I don't regret conscripting him at all, even though Fiona still hasn't forgiven me. A life as a lyrium addicted templar was not what Maric would have wanted and in time I hope that Fiona understands it as well. _

_No doubt you are having dreams of the Archdemon so you know that this is truly a Blight. You also know that as the most senior Warden in Ferelden it is my duty to strike the killing blow. It is a duty I will not foreswear, Lion. My Calling is so close it hardly matters whether I kill the Archdemon tomorrow or go on my Calling in a month. I am not afraid of this, Leo, and I don't want you to be either. We both know the true measure of being a Grey Warden. _

_I will be meeting with Cailan as soon as I arrive back in Ostagar, in two day's time. He is impetuous and naïve but he understands the importance of the Wardens. If only Loghain did. This is one time I almost agree with you that the secret of why a Grey Warden is needed to kill the Archdemon should not be a secret to those who govern. Loghain would not be so dismissive if he knew._

_Hopefully you have mustered the troops by now. Cailan sent a request to Celene and unless he does something incredibly reckless, you will be here to fight at my side. While that gives me more comfort than you can know, I can't rely on that happening, as you and I both know that nothing is certain in war; that battles never go according to plan. _

_I can't begin to express how much joy you have brought me, my wonderful Lion. That you could love me as I love you has been the greatest gift I have ever received, one I never expected. In my heart we are back at Jader under that oak tree down in the meadow. That's where I will be waiting for you, Lion. Until then, be strong and live as you are meant to, not in the shadow of grief and regret. Mourn me if you must, but not forever. You have so much love to give. Let others experience it. It is all I ask of you. _

_I will always remain your most devoted and loving,_

_Duncan_


	38. Chapter 38

**Epilogue**

Leonie was as surprised as she was grateful that the letter found its way to her. She carefully folded it and placed it in the small chest where all of Duncan's letters were kept. There were forty seven letters in all and she had memorized each one of them.

They were bivouacked along the border, just east of Jader. A sea of tents, interspersed with islands of small campfires. They had been there for three months, waiting for word from King Cailan. The waiting game was destroying her carefully constructed optimism.

Riordan delivered the news about Ostagar, discovered by questioning the ragged refugees streaming across the border. She had known. Somehow, she had _always_ known that when Duncan most needed her she would fail him. While Riordan tried to comfort her, to assuage the guilt that began to gnaw away at the edges of her sanity, she found no solace in his words. She let him comfort her because it gave him comfort to do so and he had loved Duncan as much as she had.

She should have been there. She should have just ignored Loghain's orders to turn back at the border and Celene's orders to hold position until permission was given to enter Ferelden. She should have been there come what may, but she had been a dutiful Grey Warden and stayed with her men for months, waiting for some word.

Nothing she did seemed to alleviate the anguish, the twisting painful grief that tore through her flesh and bone to settle in her very marrow. There were days when she could deny it and on those days she was convinced that she was merely waiting for word from Duncan himself. Those days found Riordan hovering nearby, with a worried look in his eyes that she refused to acknowledge. Seeing his grief only brought hers back to life.

When she could no longer deny the truth, she walked quietly to her campfire and stood looking into the flames as if somehow she could conjure Duncan from them, have him rise like a phoenix from the ashes. She could not and the truth weighed heavy and certain in her. He would not have wanted her to lose herself in her grief, he would have wanted her to continue doing what she had always done, be what she had always been. A Grey Warden. It would dishonor him to continue weeping and wailing and ignoring her duties.

Finally, Leonie performed the ritual that centuries of Orlesian women before her had performed at the death of their loved ones. She took out her dagger and holding her hair away from her neck, she cut the long braid off. Having no funeral pyre to place it upon, she dropped it onto her campfire, signifying to all she was in mourning. And then she did what she had to as a Grey Warden. She did what Duncan had taught her.

She pressed forward, always forward.

Fin


End file.
